


The Big One

by OneThousandBooksLater



Series: A Bookshop Moves to Tadfield [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Desire, A Moral Argument, A Temptation Accomplished, A really bad date, Angels, Angst, Apocalypse, Apple Watch (timepiece), Apples, Auras, Awkward Conversations, Bad Angel Michael (Good Omens), Beelzebub's Nice Plan, Braids, Caught in the Act, Christmas, Cooperation, Costumes, Cover Art, Criminal Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Sings (Good Omens), Crowley Starkers, Crowley the Fixer, Crowley would be squicked out, Crowley's Rats, Dancing, DeeDee the Disposable Demon, Demons, Demons and humans, Dick Pics, Discorporation (Good Omens), Drunk Texting, Eastern Gate, Eric Gets A Surprise, Established Relationship, Existential Angst, Fallen Angels, Fear, Fear of Death, Fluff, Fox Demon Daji, Fruit Bats, Gates of Hell, Gen, Gender Role Reversal, Global Warming, Gossip, Grand Complications, Guns, Hacking Heaven and Hell, Halloween Costumes, Holy Water, Horseback Riding, Humiliation, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, It's Only Tuesday, Jackals, Jinn, K-pop References, Katana, Kilts, Louboutins, Love, Madame Tracy's Tea Shop, Making love to a marble statue, Malasadas, Money, Montague & Capulet, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Naughty angel and demon, Panama City, Pie, Pining, Platoon from Hell, Post-Canon, Quote: I'm the Archangel Fucking Gabriel (Good Omens), Ransomware, Rincon de la Vieja Volcano, Sex, Sheep, Shibari, Sinister Lurking At Church Bazaar, Slow Romance, So Much for a Nice Retirement Cottage on the Downs, Stallion Named Angel, Statues, Sulfur Burns Blue, Tadfield, Tango, Tartan, The Great Plan (Good Omens), The importance of liverwurst, The trap springs, Three Angels Walk Into A Bar, Ticket to Earth, Vaping, Violence, Wings, Witches, hideout, the point is, time after time, we are bulletproof
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2020-10-11 05:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 103
Words: 118,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneThousandBooksLater/pseuds/OneThousandBooksLater
Summary: CROWLEYFor my money, the really big one will be all of us against all of them.AZIRAPHALEWhat?  You mean Heaven and Hell against humanity?--Good Omens script by Neil Gaiman.Aziraphale and Crowley's love adventure. Cut loose from their organizations, how do they establish links with their human allies? Love, sex, and consequences. We start in Tadfield with a demonic Apple watch.Only a struggle twists sentimentality and lust together into love.-- E. M. Forster,MauriceWe'll see how these plot pieces of a jigsaw puzzle of unknown design shape up.Cover art by AiwaSenseiA continuation of the 4 shorter stories "You Can Stay at My Place if You Like," "A Bookshop Moves to Tadfield," "Jack of Diamonds," and "Tango in Tadfield."Those interested in a more M version of what's going on behind the scenes with our supernatural lovers might want to read "Crowley Gets A New Look."





	1. Plot Sequences Table of Contents, Cover Illustration.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those readers not thrilled by the first relatively tame chapters might consider jumping ahead to other episodes.  
Plot sequences and brief summaries below the illustration.
> 
> Tango illustration by AiwaSensei.

  1. **_ Birthday Present from Hell_** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/48757121>

Characters from the start of this series (_A Bookshop Moves to Tadfield, Jack of Diamonds, Tango in Tadfield_) are re-introduced, and we meet some new ones. Crowley reveals Pepper is a witch.

  1. **_ Tartan is Stylish_** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/49124030>

Crowley and Aziraphale begin to connect with more of the Tadfield locals, with disturbing results.

  1. **_ Boris_** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/49669409>

Crowley at last encounters a horse who will tolerate him. And who likes whisky.

  1. **_ Inconvenient Discorporation_** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/49909193>

Heaven makes a disastrous attempt to retrieve Aziraphale. Crowley's ruthless anti-angel tactic.

  1. **_ Aziraphale, Demon Lover_** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/50204651>

This time Heaven succeeds in abducting Aziraphale, who gets a dreadful punishment.

  1. **_ Another Art Installation_** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/50641286>

The Almighty, in Her own special way, lets Gabriel know Her judgment of his treatment of Aziraphale.

  1. **_ Violence_** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/51077806>

Crowley makes an impromptu return visit to Hell, with an unexpected outcome.

  1. **_ That Angel of the Eastern Gate_** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/51886726>

Aziraphale & Crowley reminisce about their first encounter in Eden.

  1. **_ Daji_** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/52684810>

Crowley’s hacking of Heaven and Hell summons an evil archdemon on a mission from Beelzebub.

  1. **_ A Very Bad Date_** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/53764894>

An angel and an archdemon go on a horrifying date. A mini-_Die Hard_ for celestial beings.

  1. **_ Crowley’s Busy Day, Part One _**<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/54811648>

So much for that cottage on the South Downs.

**Serial continues in volume 2, _The Big One: Angels and Demons _** [h](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174788/chapters/56032762) [ttps://archiveofourown.org/works/23174788/chapters/56032762](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174788/chapters/56032762)


	2. Birthday Present from Hell

Early lunch time in Madame Tracy’s Tea Shop. The Them are gathered at their favorite table by the window. Aziraphale and Crowley enter and join them. Madame Tracy waltzes over.

_Ah! Everyone’s here. You’re looking very dapper today, Mr. Fell. And you, too, of course, Mr. Crowley. Adam, love, I’m so happy we could treat you to a little birthday luncheon. I know your mum is preparing a lovely cake for tea time, so I’ve tried not to go overboard on the sweets. Is tea all right for everyone, or do you prefer juice or fizzy drinks?_

Wensleydale asks for milk, the other three kids request root beer. The angels stick with tea, Crowley’s cupful subtly changing color as he takes the first sip. Pepper notices, rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Crowley smirks back at her. Madame Tracy deposits a tower of various wrap sandwiches, a platter of fruit slices, big bowl of crisps, plate of lemon tarts. Places small stainless doggie bowls of biscuits and water upon a little braided rug on the floor for Dog. Everyone thanks her and then falls to as she bustles off to deal with other customers.

They’re just polishing off the lemon tarts when an International Express man enters the shop. Looks around, spots Adam, approaches him with a package and a clipboard.

_Adam Young? Took me a while to find you, and no mistake. Your mother said she thought you might be at the tea shop across from the bookstore. _(He hands Adam the clipboard and a pen.) _If you would please sign here . . . _

Adam signs, the delivery man thanks him, hands him a small plain brown parcel, and exits. Adam removes the wrappings, to reveal:

_It’s a watch!_

An Apple watch, but subtly different. Nothing subtle about the case and band though – 18K gold and diamond encrusted. Adam tentatively taps the side button, and two clocks appear: one in green, labeled “Tadfield;” the other in red, labeled “Too Late.” The times are identical.

There is a blinking Message icon. Adam taps it, and fiery red script appears:

_Let’s keep in touch, Son. You can call me Uncle._

Adam shows it around the table. Everyone is silent. Except Crowley.

_Satan’s sins, you can’t go around wearing something like that. _

With a snap of his fingers, the watch is now an unplated stainless version with a black python band. Impressed with a small sigil of Lucifer on the clasp. 

_Still a bit swank for a school kid._

_How am I supposed to explain this to my parents? They’ll want to know what was in the package._

_I suggest you don’t show it to them at all, until we figure out what to do with the thing. Tell them the package was for a different Adam Young. Not a lie. Not even a prevarication, really._

_I can’t do that. I have to tell mum and dad. Do you think it will have security issues?_

_Bound to. A raft of ‘em. Tracking, for starters. Probably hard to discover, though. “Run a scan of this watch and see what links it has to his Satanic Majesty Lucifer in the 9th Circle of Hell.” Apparently it doesn’t require a companion phone, which is fairly cutting edge. Which could mean it isn’t from whom it claims to be. On the other hand, it could just be Hell’s usual direct approach to electronics. Let’s do a little test._

Crowley holds out his hand, Adam gives him the watch. The demon activates Message and speaks.

_Hey-o, Beelzebub, give me a reason to believe this trinket isn’t bait from Gabriel._

Not a long wait before the watch gives a tiny vibration and speakerphone activates.

_The St. Thaddeus Monastery. You screamed, and you screamed, and you screamed. Miss me?_

A long minute passes as Crowley stares at the watch. Then he swipes and taps the sequence to delete the message thread.

He returns the watch to Adam.

_It’s from Hell, all right. Exactly their style. Surely you’re not considering wearing it?_

_No!_

_Angel, can you pour me some more tea? I don’t care if it’s cold. _

Gulps down his cup of “tea” in one go.

Pepper wants to know:

_What happened at the St. Thaddeus Monastery?_

_Bad date. I don’t do well on consecrated ground. Feels like I’m being barbecued._

_Is that why you won’t go near St. Cecil’s and All Angels?_

_Among other reasons. Adam, let me take this watch to London this afternoon. I know some competent analysts who can take a look at it. _

_Will you be able to bring it back with you this evening?_

_No. Tomorrow. I’ll let you know as soon as we find out what’s inside. Aziraphale, I think we should get started now. Anything from the bookshop you want to bring to London?_

_No. Ready to go when you are._

_Well then. Happy birthday, Young Master Adam. We have your permission to relieve you of this little time bomb for 24 hours?_

_Yes._

Adam hands the watch to Crowley, who pockets it. 

Aziraphale and Crowley thank Madame Tracy; make their way out the door and across the street to the Bentley. Crowley has it doing 90 by the time they hit the edge of Tadfield.

. . .

_What music is this, Crowley?_

_Classic trance. Paul Van Dyk. Title is “For An Angel.”_

_I like it!_

Crowley narrowly misses driving off into a gorse hedge.


	3. Not Even Six Degrees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters that appear in the short story "Jack of Diamonds."  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20440358

Several weeks prior to Adam’s birthday. Madame Tracy queries Mary Hodges one afternoon while they’re having tea.

_Mary, I’ve been thinking. Do you suppose a ballroom dance class might be a go in Tadfield?_

Mary had not immediately rejected the idea out of hand, having enjoyed a brief vision flashing through her mind of her and Evans doing a tango.

_Do you have any particular instructors in mind, Madame Tracy?_

_Well, no, haven’t gotten nearly that far yet. It’s just an idea that came to me._

_It sounds like fun! I’ll do some research. Perhaps a dance instructor from outside might be willing to come for, say, a three-week tango course? I’ll see if Mas- Mr. Crowley would be amenable to the use of Tadfield Manor for such a project. We do have a nice old ballroom . . ._

And so it had happened. All the way from Edinburgh, two dancing instructors - a jovial married couple in their 30s - having a sort of working summer holiday teaching the burghers of Tadfield how to tango.

* * *

The instructors have a busy schedule of 3 classes daily, divided by age groups: the adolescents, the 20- and 30-somethings, and the middle-aged and older. There is a bit of a stir at the beginning of the first evening class for the older students when Crowley and Aziraphale walk in.

_Welcome, gentlemen. How lucky for us you that you’ve joined our class. Clan we partner each of you with one of our lovely ladies? _

The instructors are keenly hopeful, as this is a common unbalanced distribution in dance classes. Alas, it is not to be.

_Oh. No. Thank you. _

Aziraphale is pleasant but firm. Crowley purrs:

_We’re our own partners. _

Meanwhile he gives Aziraphale an _I-am-so-seriously-considering-murdering-you_ look.

Modern times, though. Adam’s parents Deirdre and Arthur are too courteous to even look surprised at a same sex couple, much less remark. R. P. Tyler starts to swell up like a puffer fish, but is sternly quieted by his wife, who thinks a bit of tango is just what they need and he’s not going to make a fuss if she has anything to do about it. Which she does. 

* * *

Pepper’s mum Janet has married a tall black middle-aged American woman, and they are also attending the class. Crowley saunters over to her at the break.

_I heard during introductions that your name is Georgia. You’re not actually from that particular American state, are you?_

_Oh, no. I’m actually named after my great-great-grandfather. Georgia was his nickname._

Crowley stands silent, unconsciously gives her a long rude up-and-down. Finally her indignant stare registers.

_Oh. Excuse me. Sorry. Just that I knew a Georgia once. A man. You have a remarkable resemblance to him. Bit eerie, really._

_Was he black?_

_Yes. No chance your great-great-grandad played poker, is there?_

Now it’s Georgia’s turn to silently inspect Crowley.

_As a matter of fact, he did. Started a little family tradition. I’ve played ever since I was old enough to hold the cards. _

The two stand silent, thinking.

_In my family, only_ _my great-great granddad and I were ever named Georgia. You don’t look old enough to have met him. He was out West after the Civil War. He told stories about how he’d met the Devil himself in Colorado. A red-haired Englishman with eyes like a rattlesnake. Who wore blind man’s glasses to cover them. They played poker together. The devil enjoyed hearing him play his fiddle. It’s a bit of a family legend. Georgia and his pal Sidewinder._

Georgia is as quick on the uptake as her ancestor. She reaches up and gently pulls Crowley’s dark glasses down enough to see his eyes. He gazes back at her and smiles:

_Well I’ll be damned. _

_I think you might already be, Mr. Crowley._

_Call me Anthony._

Aziraphale comes back from the refreshments table and joins them. Crowley puts his arm around the angel’s waist and gives him a peck on the cheek.

_Georgia, may I introduce my partner, Mr. Azir A. Fell. Angel, meet Georgia, Pepper’s American mum. She and I were just having the most interesting conversation. _

_A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fell._

_Likewise, my dear._

The dance instructors ring a small bell to signal the end of break and the students file back to the floor.

Sometime later, after various permutations on the dance floor, Janet and Georgia find themselves standing next to Crowley and Aziraphale. Georgia murmurs to Crowley:

_Forgive me if I’m being nosey, Anthony, but when you call Mr. Fell “Angel,” that’s not just a sweet nickname, is it?_

_Not exactly._


	4. Sidewinder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slight problem.

Some weeks prior to Adam’s birthday. The back yard of Pepper’s house. A warm summer night. Pepper’s mums, Janet and Georgia, are reclining in lounge chairs and having a mint julep nightcap. They’ve returned from their first evening tango lesson. Georgia’s family moved away from the American South over a century ago, but she likes good bourbon and mint juleps.

_Janet, tell me more about that Anthony Crowley and Azir Fell._

_Quite the striking pair, aren’t they. Mr. Crowley is generally believed to be quite wealthy. Is a major shareholder in our local bank. Bailed out Mary Hodges when her Tadfield Manor ran into difficulties from some lawsuits. Developed that performance driving course that seems to be all the rage. Rumors of criminal connections, especially after his helicopter was blown up last year in some sort of assassination or terrorist attempt. He is quite blasé and low key about it all. Goes to our little local beauty salon to have his hair styled and his nails done, for instance. Pepper was quite indignant when he showed up with turquoise enamel like hers, and demanded he change it._

_Did he?_

_Yes. He and Mr. Fell seem to be . . . adult advisors, I guess one could say . . . of that little group of kids that Pepper’s been part of since forever. _

_Adam, Brian, and Wensleydale?_

Janet nods. Georgia looks concerned.

_That pretty much leads into what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. Just how well acquainted are you with those men?_

_Hm. Occasionally I chat with Mr. Fell in his bookshop. He has a remarkably deep collection. Mr. Crowley just sort of flits in and out, seem to spend a lot of time in London. I recollect Mr. Fell mentioning a flat in Mayfair._

_Mayfair? That’s a pretty upscale district, isn’t it?_

_Yes._

_What does Pepper say about him?_

_Not much. Says she’s sworn to secrecy. _

_Doesn’t that worry you?_

_Oh no. Pepper and I have always been quite frank with one another. Being ruthlessly honest and forthright is the only way to raise a young woman nowadays, I believe. There are so many dangers. I’ve tried to raise Pepper to know that she can trust me to be her sounding board. That I will never prevaricate with her. She became curious about sex around age 10, for example, and has been very direct with her questions ever since. Possibly because she’s a subscriber to Teen Vogue. (Janet laughs) Usually sex is a bit of a minefield for us parents. We were subjected to so much nonsense ourselves. _

_But you allow her to have secrets about someone like Anthony Crowley? Doesn’t that set off alarm bells?_

_No. I know what her secret is. She’s told me. _(Laughs)_ I’m sworn to secrecy, myself, I’m afraid, so I cannot enlighten you. _

_Very well. Then let me tell you what I observed tonight at the tango lesson. You know how it’s impossible for me to stop practicing forensic psychology, even though I’m now blessedly retired from law enforcement. Habits of a lifetime and all that. Perhaps you have also noticed, in your encounters with Mr. Fell, how his attention tracks Anthony like a magnet homing in on North?_

_Yes. He is courteous and attentive when one speaks with him. But if Mr. Crowley is present, one always feels a bit like an intrusive bystander. He practically lights up when Mr. Crowley enters the room._

_I can’t bring myself to label his fixation as obsession, the man just seems so happy about it. More like a child who’s just received the Christmas present of his dreams. _

_Or passionate young lovers?_

_Except they’re not so young. And Anthony definitely conveys the impression that he’s been around the block a few times. _

_More than a few, I’d say._

Georgia takes a deep breath, as if about to unburden herself.

_I’m not trying to frighten you, but I’ve had to deal with enough psychopaths during my career that I have to say Anthony makes me very uneasy. He may be even more disturbing than you realize. You know that I’m named for my great-great-grandfather. Anthony approached me tonight to tell me I have a strong resemblance to a man he once knew. I’m certain he encountered my great-great granddad back in the 1880s. And how could he possibly be 140 years old and look like he’s only in his 40s, you might ask? One of our family legends is that when great-great granddad was a miner in the Colorado silver rush, he used to play poker with and fiddle for the Devil. The Devil was a red haired Englishman who wore dark blind man’s glasses to conceal his eyes. He had eyes like a rattlesnake. Great-great granddad and he roamed the mining camps as gamblers. Georgia and Sidewinder. You can imagine how thrilling I found these tales when I was a child. My aged grandad lived with us, and I wouldn’t let him tell me any other stories at bedtime, even if he tried to read me picture books. Tonight I moved Anthony’s glasses a bit so I could see his eyes. He does have eyes like a snake. Golden, with slit pupils. I don’t think they are contact lenses._

Janet knows.

_Anthony Crowley, Demon. That’s Pepper’s secret. We had a conversation similar to this about two years ago, when the kids struck up an acquaintance with Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell. We must tell her that you figured it out. And reassure her that we’re not about to let the cat out of the bag, to anyone. _

_And I take it Mr. Fell is . . . an angel?_

_Yes. Unbelievable as that seems, we appear to have two supernatural beings now resident here in sleepy little Tadfield. A devil and a guardian angel. Doubtful that even dynamite could pry the kids away from such an exciting pair._

_I quit being religious in my teens. Have since lived quite smugly convinced that belief in angels and devils and ghosts and such is mere ignorant and irrational superstition. And now I seem to have encountered an actual angel and his demon lover. _

_Took me quite a while to believe it myself. Most of us don’t go around wondering daily about that sort of romance. Stories about demons and angels and vampires and such seem to rely heavily on the succubus and incubus themes. Fantasies of deliciously attractive supernatural beings interacting with human beings, not each other. Plus, the tradition is that angels and devils are implacable enemies. Think of all those centuries of artwork showing the Archangel Michael driving Lucifer and the fallen angels from Heaven. I wonder what the other angels and devils think? Montagues and Capulets? _

_It does seem a wildly improbable affair. No wonder they’re so intense – a forbidden love! And speaking of “intense,” did you perhaps notice Anthony’s aroma?_

_Well, there was definitely something in the air in that ballroom tonight. You’re saying it was his cologne?_

_Not exactly. He and I had been talking some minutes when Mr. Fell walked up to join us. And it was if someone stirred the logs in a fireplace with a poker – a whiff of smoke, with an overtone of . . . something else. _ _Research indicates that the existence of functioning human pheromones is tenuous, despite the myths. Nonetheless, my perception was that Anthony was somehow radiating sex like a censer._

_Well, that should make our tango lessons much more exciting! _(Janet laughs, but then her amusement collapses.) _Oh my god. Four teens just entering puberty are hanging around with them._

_Indeed. Like another julep before we turn in? _

_I think that’s entirely in order. Otherwise I might be staring at the ceiling all night. _


	5. Triple S Security

Triple S Security. A hardened room inside a nondescript and completely forgettable building in a London suburb.

Crowley and Evgeny are seated with both their chairs behind Evgeny’s desk, upon which Adam’s watch is lying, glittering in its gold and diamond guise.

_It does not show up on any scan or photograph, Mr. Crowley. It is as if it is not there. Invisible. Not even a ghost._

_I was afraid of that._

_And we cannot detect any spectrum of emission._

_Got a scanner handy? Let’s see what happens during reception._

Evgeny opens a drawer in his desk, takes out a small instrument with a thick antenna. Crowley activates the message app. Before he even has a chance to speak, Freddie Mercury comes on speakerphone.

_Hello, Crowley. We note with interest that Adam’s watch is now far from his location. You are no doubt on your way to return it to him._

The phone turns itself off

_So, it definitely has location tracking capability._

Evgeny looks at the scanner and shakes his head.

_I was going to give you a shielded box to supplement your pocket linings. But I now think we will not find that useful. And I also think we need to converse where the watch cannot hear. _

Evgeny taps his phone, and a man enters the room.

_Bohdan, take this to the blast test room. Mr. Crowley will pick it up on his way out. Bohdan retrieves a slim little pliers from his suit pocket, uses it to suspend the watch instead of his hand. His other hand has bandages on his thumb and first two fingers._

_You were able to activate the watch, Mr. Crowley. When Bohdan tried, it burned him._

_Badly, Bohdan?_

_Nyet. Few blisters._

_That sort of app might make it difficult to sell. _(They all chuckle.)

_Signal me when the watch is in the blast room, Bohdan._

Bohdan exits. Evgeny and Crowley wait silently for some minutes, then resume their conversation upon receiving Bohdan’s call.

_That design goes for over a hundred thousand pounds new. _

_A valuable watch that won’t show on any scanner . . ._

_Yes. An untraceable watch that gets tetchy and ignites if it doesn’t want to be handled . . . _

They regard one another with perfect understanding of the possibilities such a thing possesses. Crowley notices Evgeny’s hand. Gestures to a faint blue skull on one of Evgeny’s fingers, and a hooded executioner on another, positioned to be visible on the upper joints when making a fist.

_Those two tattoos seem to keep coming back._

Evgeny holds out his hand. Crowley brushes his fingers over it, and the faint blue lines vanish.

_Only those two. Some marks run deep. _(Evgeny flicks a quick glance at Crowley’s serpent sigil.)

_Do they ever. _

_Let us have a toast. _

Evgeny opens a deeper desk drawer, extracts a pair of small glasses and a bottle of vodka with an unusual label. Pours them each a generous amount.

_Za nashu druzjbu!_

They link elbows and down the liquor at one go, then put the glasses down on the desk.

_ Well, best I return the watch to its owner. Before it burns a hole in something._

They shake hands firmly.

_Udachi._

_Byvaj._

* * *

_So that’s what we know about your watch, Adam._

_I don’t want to wear it. What should I do with it?_

_Right now it’s in the safe at Tadfield Manor. I suggest we leave it there. The tracking ability apparently can detect if the watch is outside of Tadfield and you’re not. But I doubt it can detect whether you’re wearing it. Your cloaking power probably prevents that. So, it merely senses who’s trying to operate it. I think you could safely stay separated from it. That would be a good idea in any event, because we still don’t know if it can listen in on conversations._

_I think I’ll keep it near my house, if that’s all right with you. I have an idea what to do with it so it won’t listen in._

_You’re in charge, my lad._

* * *

_This is the watch that was in the package, Dad. Mr. Crowley say’s it’s a fake._

_May I see it, Adam?_

_Don’t push any of the buttons. Mr. Crowley says it’s a trick watch, and will give you an electric shock if you’re not the owner and try to turn it on the wrong way._

_Amazing the security devices they build into things these days._

Adam hands his father the watch, which is in its more subdued black python strap guise.

_Rather posh, isn’t it._

_Yes. Mr. Crowley says the real version sells for a lot of money. But this one isn’t real, so I can’t sell it to someone._

_Glad you understand that. Wouldn’t do to be arrested for fraud, now, would it. You don’t plan on wearing something like this?_

_No, Dad. My phone tells the time, I don’t need a watch._

_Never hinted to mum or someone that you fancied a wristwatch? _

Adam shakes his head.

_Can’t think of anyone who might play such a practical joke on you?_

Again Adams shakes his head.

_I wonder if the delivery person got the wrong Adam Young. It was International Express, was it?_

Adam nods.

_I’ll check with them to see if it was a mistaken delivery and if they have a return address. In the meantime, what do you plan to do with this thing?_

_Oh, I’ll just hide it somewhere._

_Dropping it anywhere on the floor in your room would certainly accomplish that._

* * *

Out in the garden of the Youngs’ house. Adam has the watch in a small plastic box.

_Hey, Dog! Let’s play buried treasure! You dig the hole._

Dog obliges with gusto.


	6. Salon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ripple effects.

_Julia’s Salon de Beaut__é _in Tadfield. Crowley enters. The three staff – Julia, Peter, and Mindy – have divided up the tasks for whenever Crowley happens to drop in. He never makes an appointment. Mindy does manicures, Julia facials, and Peter loves to braid hair. They draw straws each morning to determine who greets Crowley to sort out the session’s tasks and take over other clients as necessary so Crowley doesn’t have to wait. Today Peter won the draw. Mutters _“Woof!_” to Julia, walks over to greet Crowley, gestures to invite him to his chair. He speaks with an Estuary accent:

_Not really ready for a shampoo yet, Mr. Crowley. Don’t want your hair to get too dry. Is a massage and re-styling all right with you? . . . Your manicure still looks good. Unless you prefer a different color?_

_ Just the hair is fine. A braid, I think. _

It’s a bit early, and Peter’s incoming appointment has not yet appeared, but will just have to wait if they do. Somehow the clients never seem to mind waiting if Crowley is present. Once Crowley is seated, Peter arranges the neck paper strip and shoulder cape, starts brushing the demon’s long auburn hair. Crowley has removed his glasses, but keeps his eyes closed to narrow slits.

_Shall we try a Scythian braid today? _

_I leave it to your judgment._

Peter brushes and combs for a long pleasant while. Puts down the tools and pushes his fingers into Crowley’s hair to massage his scalp for a delicious interval. Eventually starts to separate the braid strands. Spends a long time carefully twisting and braiding until Crowley sports a neat pair of rope braids down his back.

Once Crowley is gone, when there’s a brief break in the clientele stream, Julia approaches Peter and murmurs softly:

_What would we do without Mr. Crowley, eh, love? You’ve noticed how our clientele has increased since he started coming in? I’m thinking we might have to hire another chair._

Peter waves his hand as if he’s just touched a hot stove.

_I’m thinking a small private room for personal relaxation massage therapy. He never gives the slightest hint that he’s into that sort of thing, but I’d positively fling myself to my knees if he was. Slay me, Daddy. _(Groans comically)

_You’re not alone, you know. Mindy had to visit the staff room last week after she finished with him._

_I wondered about that. _

Julia laughs.

_Perhaps a small fridge for ice and cold towels? _

_D’you mind if I leave a bit early today? Think I need a little workout with Oli._

_No worries. We’ll cover for you._

* * *

_Hello, Julia, my dear. Lovely day today, isn’t it?_

_Yes it is, Mr. Fell. If you’ll just come with me to Mindy’s station, she’s all ready and waiting for you._

_Perhaps I could have a shampoo and trim as well? I seemed to be looking a bit wooly this morning. _

_Of course. And I’d be very pleased to give you a nice facial. We have some new cucumber and coconut creams that I’ve been wanting to try out. You’ll have to tell me what you think of them._

_Oh! That would be heavenly. Thank you so much for working me into your busy schedule._

There’s a sort of barely discernable rustle among the other clients who are either waiting or being attended to, Mrs. Tyler among them. That Mr. Fell is such a charming gentleman, a real pleasure to be around. So reassuring, somehow. And always so helpful at benefit events for St. Cecil’s and All Angels. 

Madame Tracy smiles as she continues reading her magazine.


	7. Uriel

Closing time in Aziraphale’s Tadfield bookshop.

Aziraphale is tidying up, the last customer of the day having finally mercifully exited without having to be grabbed by the belt and collar and flung out the door. He is exasperated when the bell tinkles and someone enters. He was sure he’d locked the door. It is a chocolate-skinned woman in a crisp pale linen suit. Her unique gold jewelry is striking. Ethereal, in fact.

_Uriel!_

The angel turns to Aziraphale, goes down on one knee in a deep genuflection, her arms outstretched, head bowed.

_Aziraphale. Forgive me._

Crowley enters from the back room, sees Uriel. His arms become pterosaur wings, with 3 large razor claws. Incandescent eyes glow right through his dark glasses. A wave of heat ripples through the room. Uriel cringes, but keeps her focus on Aziraphale. She maintains her pose of supplication.

_They sent me to find you. I cannot rise until you forgive me, Aziraphale._

_And just why should he do that?_

_I was wrong, Aziraphale. . . . We should not have persecuted you. _

_Persecuted me? You tried to destroy me! You stood by while Gabriel tried to incinerate me into non-existence with Hellfire!_

_I am ashamed, Aziraphale. It was a terrible injustice. Gabriel and Michael sent me to find you. But I am here to warn you, do not trust them. Please, Aziraphale. I must report back to them. I don’t know if I can evade their surveillance. But I will help you if I can. You know I cannot lie, Aziraphale. I’m an angel._

Crowley slowly edges forward. Uriel is panicky, and her flaming sword reflexively appears in her hand, but she quickly extinguishes it and sends it back to storage, still maintaining her supplicatory pose.

_I am frightened, Aziraphale._

Aziraphale considers. And then Adam’s shadow appears outside the window, and he enters the locked shop.

_Adam. Don’t move._

Adam is surprised but calm. Inspects Uriel with intense interest. Then:

_She won’t hurt you, Aziraphale. Brilliant wings, Crowley! Were you a pterosaur once?_

_I forgive you, Uriel. Please rise._

Crowley’s wings morph back into arms. He places his hands on his hips.

_And just how did you manage to find us, angel?_

_I . . . I don’t know, exactly. _(She looks bewildered, as if her memories are tendrils of fog that cannot quite be grasped.) _I haven’t been on Earth much since the 16th century. I had to learn how to drive a car! And they go so fast! _

With a huge effort, Crowley manages to maintain a bland expression and not give a significant look to the somewhat discomfited Aziraphale.

A faintly secretive smile flits across Adam’s face. He turns to go out the door.

_If you’ll excuse me, the gang’s waiting. I just wanted to drop in and say hello. _

_Well, thank you Adam. Always a pleasure to see you. Before you go, allow me to introduce the Angel Uriel. Uriel, meet Adam Young, the Antichrist._

Uriel bows deeply, arms once again outstretched.

_Nice t’ meet you, Ms. Uriel. Well, I better be going. Bye!_

_Ciao, kid._

_Aziraphale gestures to Uriel, inviting her to sit in one of the little brocade upholstered Georgian armchairs near the sales desk. Crowley maintains his position between her and the back room, leaning casually against a bookshelf, his arms folded. Uriel glances anxiously at him before she sits, then adjusts her chair so he is within her view._

_Uriel. Please explain just what is going on._

_I . . . I don’t know, really. Gabriel and Michael ordered me to Earth to find you. How I managed to get here – Tadfield - I cannot remember. It’s as if parts of my memory are somehow inaccessible. I have been searching for you for over a year now. London is even more intimidating than it was 500 years ago. I was mostly in Italy during the Renaissance, you will recall. Is Italy also as harrowing as London is now?_

_Oh no. Much nicer. Well, not Rome, perhaps. That’s as bad as it always was._

_Can you two skip the reminiscing and get on with it? _

_Well. Yes. Uriel, did Gabriel and Michael have a message for me?_

_No. I was simply told to find you and then report back your location. Now that I’ve found you, I suppose I must return and tell them. But I don’t want to. How do you two manage to stay without being transported back?_

(Crowley sneers) _No one wants us back, for starters. Nor do we want to go. Hellfire? Holy water? Perhaps you can remember those lovely substances?_

_Do you think they can sense your location, Uriel? The way humans use trackers?_

_Trackers? What are those?_

_Electronic devices that . . . well, maintain a sort of invisible tether. Humans use such a capability in their cellphones, for example. Do you have a phone connection to Heaven?_

_Uriel pulls out her little pale gold phone with alarm._

_How can I tell?_

_Please give it to Crowley. He’s better at that sort of thing than I am._

_Crowley saunters over and Uriel cautiously hands him her phone. It begins to smoke, then becomes a melted blob of glass, plastic, and tiny metal drops in the demon’s palm. Crowley turns his hand over and drops the chunk to the floor, where it singes the wood._

_Whoops. _

He magics away the burnt wood and the melted blob. Looks at the two angels. 

_No link whatsoever now._

_Well. That’s one way to solve that problem. I suggest you do not return to Heaven immediately, Uriel, until we sort this out. We have friends who perhaps can put you up. I’ll give them a call._

_And if you get a notion to try anything, you should know that Young Master Adam the Antichrist is still in full possession of all his powers. He may be a 13-year-old human child, but he tolerates no angelic or demonic “messing about,” as he calls it. Interfere at your peril. This is his domain. And keep an eye out for that Hellhound of his, the little bastard likes to go for your ankles._

_Well, your ankles, at least, Crowley. Uriel, you weren’t present at almost-Armageddon, but we were. Adam dealt most capably with Gabriel, Beelzebub, the Four Horsemen, and his father Lucifer, the Great Satan. The boy takes a hands-off management approach, but do not be deceived. You do not want to cross him. And now, let me call our friends to see if they can accommodate you._

Aziraphale makes the call.

_Hello, Janet? Aziraphale here. We have just received a heavenly visitor who needs lodging for perhaps a few days. She’s an angel named Uriel . . . Oh, thank you so much! We’ll come directly, if that’s all right with you. . . . So good of you. We’ll be by in about 30 minutes. I’ll bring a bottle of sherry and some savory biscuits._


	8. Consecrated Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 12 and 13 of Crowley Gets A New Look (M) for why Aziraphale is disconcerted by the cookies:
> 
> _Tell me what you smell like._  
_Oh! . . . Vanilla? (Sigh. It would be vanilla . . .)_  
_And brown sugar._  
_Yes! (That’s better!)_

Late afternoon in the bookshop. Uriel is seated at a small table, absorbed in a book on Georgian architecture. It’s a large old book, and she’s using an ivory page turner. Mrs. R. P. Tyler bustles in and corners Aziraphale. She’s built like a small pouter pigeon and is wearing a hat that resembles something the Queen might have sported in the 1980s.

_Good afternoon, Mr. Fell. I’m just stopping by to confirm that you will be assisting us with our brochures and maps sale table at tomorrow’s tea gala at Church Meadow?_

_Always a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Tyler. Of course I will be in attendance. It looks as if we will be more fortunate with the weather this year. A fine sunny day is the forecast. I understand the event two years ago was less successful than it could have been due to a freak summer storm._

_Yes. It was like a hurricane! Tents and tables and crockery flying everywhere. A terrible mess. A complete disaster. It’s taken us two years to reorganize the necessary supplies._

As they talk, Aziraphale has gently been steering her back toward the door, pretending to pick up various volumes as if he’s busy tidying up. 

_My understanding is that I am to take the afternoon shift?_

_Yes. We know you have a shop to manage, so we thought two o’clock onward would be least inconvenient for you. _

_No worries, dear lady. I can easily close early._

Aziraphale courteously opens the door as if he were the doorman at a posh hotel.

_Very well, Mr. Fell. We do so appreciate your assistance, and look forward to your presence tomorrow afternoon. Good day!_

_Good day, Mrs. Tyler._

Uriel approaches.

_I see England is still fully stocked with battleaxes._

_My word, and no mistake. A most importunate human._

The door opens again and this time Pepper enters. She’s carrying a biscuit tin.

_Hi Aziraphale. Hi, Uriel. My mums spent all afternoon baking these for the church tea tomorrow, and sent this tin over for you and Crowley. Georgia calls them “brown sugar cookies.” I think that’s American for “biscuits.” She says they’re an old family recipe._

Aziraphale pries the lid off, and the aroma of brown sugar and vanilla emanates from the fresh cookies in the tin. He is surprised. Then an oddly disconcerted and shifty expression flits across his face.

_My goodness. Don’t those smell . . . delicious. _

Aziraphale stares blankly at the crisp brown disks heavily sprinkled with white sugar. Then remembers his manners.

_Would you like to try one, Uriel?_

Uriel has been watching Aziraphale closely, and decides to forego a sample, although she’s not sure why.

_Oh no. Thank you. They’re for you and Crowley. I’ll leave now with Pepper and help with tea. _

_We’ve saved some for tea. You’ll like them. ‘Bye, Aziraphale._

Uriel leaves with Pepper, mounts a bicycle, and they ride off together.

* * *

Aziraphale had showed Uriel how to ride a bicycle, and she took to it like a duck to water. She’s spent the last few days riding happily around the village and surrounding lanes.

_I visited that church yesterday. St. Cecil’s and All Angels. A very appealing name, yes? It’s quite a historic little building. Some pieces of it are actually Roman._

_Do you know, I’ve never been inside? I’ve been roped into volunteering for various benefits for that church, but so far those have all been held in the parish hall._

_That’s some distance away, across the river, isn’t it?_

_Yes. And I always make sure Crowley and I are in London on Sundays. _

_You don’t like churches?_

_Too many unfortunate experiences. You’d left by the time Henry the Eighth rolled up. Denominational conflict is something I avoid at all costs._

* * *

Evening the next day. Aziraphale has finished his shift at the brochures sales table and is preparing to mount his bicycle when Uriel approaches on hers.

_Let’s go see the old church. I’ll show you around. _

Aziraphale sees Mrs. Tyler in the distance, approaching in a determined manner.

_Anything to get out of being dragooned for clean-up. Let us be off, at speed._

The two angels park their bikes outside the church and go inside. As Uriel marches ahead pointing out such things as the giant antique octagonal stone baptismal font with its heavy wooden cover, the 19th century stained glass windows, the 13th century lance window . . . Aziraphale seems increasingly uneasy. He loosens his tie as if he’s feeling uncomfortably warm.

_Bit stuffy in here, isn’t it? I wonder why they have the central heat on at this time of year. Pipes in the floor, perhaps?_

Uriel stops and looks at him, puzzled.

_Aziraphale, it’s chilly as a tomb in here. _(She slips a foot out of one of the sandals she’s wearing.) _This tile floor is as cold as the stone walls._

The phrase “It’s like being at the beach in bare feet” is now running on repeat through Aziraphale’s mind. He leans down and lays a palm against the tiles. They feel hot to him.

_Yes. You’re right, Uriel._

He does an about face and heads briskly back to the entry. 

_Getting late. Told Crowley I’d be home straight away. Dinner in London. Mustn’t tarry._

* * *

In front of the bookstore. Aziraphale jumps from his bike and leaves it in a spinning heap. Magics the bookshop lock open and shut, rushes into the back room. Crowley is sprawled on the Victorian settee, dressed in the angel’s tatty old cut velour dressing gown, now liberally sprinkled on the chest with sugar and crumbs.

_Mmmmmmmm . . . delicious biscuits. My favorite flavor._

Then Aziraphales’s expression registers.

_Crowley. Something awful has happened. _

While he speaks, Crowley puts down the tin, rises from the couch, places an arm around the angel’s shoulders. Reaches for the large pillows with his other hand and tosses them against the base of the armchair. Pulls the angel down next to him on the carpet so they’re resting on the pillows. The demon crouches sideways, holding both the angel’s hands in his.

_Uriel and I visited the church. St. Cecil’s. She said it was cold as a tomb inside. But it wasn’t to me, Crowley. I felt as if I was in a sauna or something. She said the tile floor was cold as stone. But it felt hot when I touched it. Crowley, it was consecrated ground. Why does it feel hot to me? Am I becoming unholy?_

Aziraphale is struggling not to cry. 

_That’s unlikely, Aziraphale. There must be another explanation._

_I’m not a fallen angel?_

_I can’t see how that could possibly be._

What nonetheless goes through Crowley’s mind is how little it apparently takes to fall from grace. Asking questions. Hanging around with the wrong people. Next thing you know, you’re doing a million-light-year freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulfur.

Crowley embraces him in a tight hug. The angel’s shoulders are shaking. 

_Didn’t feel like walking barefoot across a hot beach, did it?_

_N-n- not yet._

_Sauntering vaguely downward, are you?_

_No! _

_Hanging out with the wrong person, perhaps?_

_Never! . . . And if I am, I don’t care! _

_Angel, do you still have your sword?_

They break apart. Aziraphale holds out his arm, and his sword appears, flaming as intense a blue as ever. Maybe even brighter. The flame centers are white.

_Looks as if you’re still in the Almighty’s good graces. We demons can’t touch those things. _

Aziraphale sends his sword back into storage. Crowley caresses the angel’s cheek and plants gentle kisses upon his face. Runs his fingers through the angel’s lambswool hair.

_You don’t suppose it’s an after-effect of that little body swap we did?_

Aziraphale nearly collapses with relief.

_Oh! I do hope that’s the explanation!_

_Well. If someday you find yourself plunging into a pool of boiling sulfur, call me. I’ll join you. We could enjoy the spa together. Being next to you would make it worth the trip._

_Kiss me again, Crowley._


	9. Midnight Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hard to talk about some things.

Midnight in Tadfield. It’s a dark, moonless night, and very quiet in the village. The faintest of lights can be discerned in Aziraphale’s bookshop, however. Uriel walks up the street and through the locked door as a ghost might. Angels don’t sleep, and it hasn’t occurred to her that it might be an inopportune time of day to have a chat with Aziraphale. What she sees in the dim light are Aziraphale and Crowley, stripped to the waist, dancing. They’re wearing ear buds, so no music can be heard. Although she’s standing in the comparatively shadowy area near the door, they sense her presence and stop.

_Uriel. Try knocking next time, for Satan’s sake. _

Crowley snaps his fingers, and their earbuds vanish. Crowley can see perfectly well in the dark, but Aziraphale magics the light level up to a pleasant warm glow, and gestures to Uriel to be seated in one of the little brocade upholstered Georgian chairs. She sits and stares at them, as if she doesn’t quite know how to begin.

_I . . . I didn’t know angels could dance. And where was the music?_

Crowley magics a pair of earbuds into her ears. She jumps as the pounding beat from a section of a trance mix assaults her hearing. Swiftly pulls and shakes the earbuds out and tosses them onto the floor.

_What kind of music is that?_

_You know, angel, if you’re just going to stare at us and be a music critic, you can leave. This isn’t a public performance. Or perhaps you were hoping for more of a show?_

Another snap of Crowley’s fingers, and his and Aziraphale’s clothing vanishes.

Swift as a serpent, Crowley sidles up behind Aziraphale and wraps his arms around his chest. Extends a long tongue and licks Aziraphale’s shoulder and neck. Slowly rubs his hands through the angel’s chest hair. The angel’s pleasure is unmistakable.

_Crowley, for Heaven’s sake! _

Aziraphale wrests himself from Crowley’s grasp. Grabs another chair and hurries over to where Uriel is sitting in obvious distress, seats himself at an angle to her. A change from two years ago is that now he doesn’t give being naked a second thought. Uriel obviously does, though, and can’t tear her eyes from his shoulders and chest. And lap. Then she starts to cry. 

With a groan of utter disgust, Crowley goes off into the back room.

Aziraphale snaps to and magics on his tatty old dressing gown. Places his hands on either side of Uriel’s face, pulling her closer to him. Their eyes meet. What she sees are concerned and earnest gray eyes in a very kind face. 

_Uriel. Please. Tell me what brings you here._

She tries to speak, but can’t stop crying. Her eyes fall once again to Aziraphale’s wooly chest, then she jerks her head away and closes her eyes as if in pain. 

Aziraphale rises and wraps his arms around her, hugging her to him as he pulls her gently from her chair onto the floor. Eventually her shoulders stop shaking and she lies quietly in his arms. 

Crowley comes out of the back room with a green pint ice cream container and a spoon. Sits next to Aziraphale, extends a spoonful toward Uriel of what looks like an icy dessert. 

_I think this is needed. I know you eat. Take it._

_It’s nice, Uriel. Lime cannabis sorbet. It has a relaxing effect._

Uriel sits up, tries a spoonful, finds it cool and pleasant. Crowley hands her the container.

_Keep eating. _

She really does like the taste, and takes increasingly larger spoonfuls. Crowley lies back on the floor, one knee raised, arms behind his head, russet hair spilling across the floor. Uriel dimly notices that the room smells of woodsmoke . . . and something else. Something deeply floral/animal and pungently pleasant. Minutes pass. Finally she’s calm enough to talk.

_Now that I have found you, I have to return to Heaven. But I don’t want to go. I want what you two have. I want . . . I want . . . to be in love with someone, like you two are with each other. _

She feels a bit . . . dizzy. Uninhibited enough to ask a question that’s been on her mind.

_Are you two actually having sex together? _

She involuntarily glances at Crowley, who is gazing with eyes half closed off toward the back room’s entrance and doesn’t notice her.

_I didn’t realize we could do that. It is messy?_

_Not at all. Our celestial bodies lack some human orifices, so we can’t do some of the interesting things that they do, or use some of their peculiar devices. The excitement lasts a lot longer, though._

_It’s nice, is it?_

_We call it “Divine Ecstasy,” if that gives you any idea._

_I wonder why no one in heaven ever speaks about it?_

_I know I never really ever thought about it. Always assumed it was impossible for me. Decorative giblets only, don’t you know. And I believe you have to be in love with your partner. _

_Oh. There’s nobody . . . nobody . . ._

Aziraphale gives her a keen look. 

_Nobody? Ten million angels and you’ve never fancied even one of them? _

He’s about to say, _“Don’t tell me it’s a demon . . .” _but sees her expression take on a wistful aspect.

_You do, don’t you. _

She nods. Continues to spoon in the sorbet.

_I don’t suppose you can tell me who?_

She shakes her head. 

_I don’t think he gives me a moment’s thought. We’re all very work focused. As perhaps you remember._

Crowley is making snoring noises, although obviously not asleep. He snarls,

_Let’s just get on with it, shall we? Go back to Heaven, find whoever it is, and just tell them you think they’re hot. Get it on. It took Aziraphale and me 6000 years and Armageddon before we could finally admit we were attracted to each other. Piece of advice: don’t make that mistake._

_Make your report to Gabriel and Michael. Then just . . . slip back down here? With your friend? _

_I can’t disobey. _

_What orders would you be disobeying?_

A snaky smile appears on Crowley’s face as Aziraphale works the Temptation. The Arrangement definitely knocked some edges off the angel.

Uriel downs another spoonful, appears lost in thought.

_No one has actually said I can’t return to Earth._

_And once you’re back, what reason would they have to come get you? Aren’t you allowed a good deal of latitude and independent work? You’re pretty far up corporate ladder._

_I’m just the office gofer, you know. Gabriel made me apply for Sandalphon’s position, but then wouldn’t give it to me. I think now that may have been lucky for me. I suspect I very well could_ _just go off, and no one would notice for a long time. I’ve been down here over a year now, and they haven’t even bothered to ask for a compliance report. It has made me wonder if Gabriel actually thinks he’s punishing me for something. You know how distasteful he finds Earth. _

_Yes. Thinks humans are stupid. Won’t corrupt his celestial body with gross matter. One can only imagine how revolted he would be by sex._

This latter possibility brings a sly speculative smile to Uriel’s face. Crowley’s, too.

_May I suggest you return to London, take the Main Office escalator. Tell them you’ve returned because you need a new phone and want to make your report. Hook up with your friend. Then come back down to Earth._

_My friend is already on Earth._

_Even better! Make your report. Request a new phone, to demonstrate your good intentions and reassure them that you’re keen. Come back down and find your friend. Don’t bother to report again until they call you. If they call you._

_I must think this over. _

Uriel gets to her feet.

_May I take this with me?_

_Be sure to return the spoon._

She grimaces at Crowley, tosses him the spoon, and magics one of her own out of the air.

_Thank you . . . Both of you. Can I come by tomorrow?_

_Anytime the shop is open, my dear._

Uriel exits, walking through the door as if it’s made of fog.

_I’ve never been able to do that, have you?_

_No. _

_Is she a higher power?_

_No, just an archangel. Technically, I outrank her. I think it might simply be a talent. Like being able to sing four octaves._

_Aziraphale, you don’t suppose the “friend” she was referring to is you? Pretty obvious she was suffering from desire._

_Doubtful. She and Sandalphon roughed me up. Helped kidnap me – you, I mean. Stood by while Gabriel tried to kill you – me – with Hellfire, didn’t you say? Not exactly the way to demonstrate affection. Must be someone else._

Crowley gets to his feet, extends a hand to Aziraphale.

_C’mon, Angel. Let’s have a scotch and then some Divine Ecstasy._

_Now that is a Great Plan._

Crowley magics Aziraphale’s dressing gown back into the closet. Stretches an arm around the angel’s shoulders, and they saunter into the back room.


	10. A Blast from the Past

Anathema and Newt are returning to Malibu, leaving tomorrow morning. Pepper has insisted that her mums get together with Anathema and have her explain to the gang just what purple auras are all about. Adam was also able to see the auras at the dance recital, and the four teens are pretty sure it has something to do with sex, they just don’t know what. Janet and Georgia agree that this is an excellent opportunity to keep the line open on that particularly fraught topic. The kids definitely seem to take whatever Anathema tells them as gospel, and Georgia is hoping she and Janet will be able counteract whatever New Age woo Anathema is spouting. They’ve arranged a pizza party.

_You know, of course, Anathema, that no one has ever actually been able to photograph or scientifically detect any type of aura around human beings. Kirlian photography is a well-known technique that has an explanation based in material physics._

Adam interjects: _Excuse me, but I can see them, too. Anathema says it takes special talent that very few people possess._

_What do these auras look like, Adam?_

_Well, they’re a sort of a flickering light. It ripples. The colors can tell you what the person is feeling, and if they’re good or bad. And angels have different auras than people._

Anathema explains:

_Georgia, you’re right. There is a lot of nonsense about auras. They are not actually generated from within a human being. Or a supernatural being. They’re more like the auroras at the Earth’s poles. _

Wensleydale pipes up: _Auroras are very beautiful, really. I’ve always wanted to go to Iceland to see them._

Brian: Y_ou can see them in northern Scotland, too. We were up there last winter. It was like a glowing green curtain all along the horizon. Only moving. Rippling, like you said._

_Anathema, auroras are caused by charged particles from the sun. What causes auras?_

_Dark supernatural energy. If someone is receiving large amounts of supernatural radiation, their aura can be quite bright. However, unlike natural auroras, auras are affected by negative emotions such as anger, hatred, fear, lust, despair. If an aura is grayish or blackened, something bad is going on inside that person._

The Them share glances with one another, remembering how last year Adam first noticed the angel Sandalphon by his inhuman and grayish aurora. But they don’t say anything in front of the four adults. That incident is still a secret between them and Crowley and Aziraphale. Anathema continues:

_People with dirty auras often look quite pleasant and normal in ordinary vision, so knowing what you’re dealing with can be very useful when it comes to avoiding trouble._

_In criminology, we call such people psychopaths. _

_Yes. Those with dark auras can be very dangerous. But they’re not as common as dim auroras that are simply caused by unhappiness. Adam is becoming quite skilled at discerning auras, and he and I stay in touch over the internet. If you have concerns about someone, you might enlist him to see whether there’s anything amiss or not. Not for frivolous gossip, of course. Someone’s aura is very personal and private information. So when Adam mentioned the purple auras at the dance recital, I was reluctant to discuss them further._

_Just what about purple auras were you reluctant to discuss with our teens here?_

_Purple and blue vary along a spectrum of desire and love. The most common source of purple auras is sexual desire, although a passion for something can also cause a purple light. Anyone intensely interested in something often displays a deep blue, purplish aura. People with talents, scientists, mechanics, engineers . . . Creative and very skilled people._

She hesitates, wondering whether to explain that if actual sexual consummation is occurring, auras flare red and magenta. 

_Like when someone says something is better than sex?_

Anathema laughs. 

_Yes! Exactly. So seeing a purple aura doesn’t necessarily mean the person is feeling sexy. However, at that dance recital the other night, I have to say that purple seemed most definitely to be related to sexual longing. And I think that topic is something more appropriate for parents to discuss with their kids. I’m just a young woman, and I don’t have training for that sort of thing._

Adam: _What if an aura is purple and blue and pink and red?_

Oh lord. Anathema knows exactly why he’s asking this.

Magenta and red flares occur . . . when a sexual act is being performed. Purple and blue signify desire. Rose and red are from . . . consummation of that desire.

Wensleydale, as usual, is quick off the mark.

_So all that Valentine’s day stuff is . . ._

I think that’s just a coincidence, Wensley. Red and pink are traditionally the colors of romance and marriage in many cultures. For all sorts of reasons. Probably nothing to do with auras. Or at least very little. Perhaps. 

_How exactly did you learn all this about auras, Anathema?_

_I’m a witch. It is one of my gifts._

Georgia’s face assumes a mildly wry expression. Angels, demons, auras . . . of course there had to be a witch in the mix. What next, she wonders. The Antichrist?

_Is there an academy for witch studies?_

_No. It’s all mostly oral traditions. A lot of the old texts are nonsense, written by men. _(Pepper smirks.)_ I’m quite handy with divination tools such as the pendulum and theodolite for finding ley lines. And of course I have the ability to see auras. Our family line began with a witch in the 16th century by the name of Agnes Nutter. She was reputed to have many strange habits. Of course, back then anyone who had any knowledge of hygiene and disease remedies was accounted as suspicious and mad. That sort of knowledge got many witches burned at the stake. But mostly Agnes was a psychic who could see into the future. She made thousands of prophecies, all of which turned out to be true. My family is well off financially thanks to many of Agnes’s predictions. _

_These prophecies were written down somewhere?_

_In a book. But the book is gone now. It got burned up in a fire two years ago. My family still has the historic prophecies in a database, however. Many of them were quite cryptic, and it’s interesting to match them up to events that occurred. Like doing a crossword puzzle._

_Is your family still using her predictions?_

_No. They finally came to an end a few years ago._

_Can you see into the future?_

_No, thank goodness. It is extremely stressful to know that something bad is coming, even if one has been given clues about how to deal with it. Agnes knew she was to be burned at the stake, for example, and that there was no escape. Imagine how that must have felt._

Wensleydale:_ Aziraphale says she was burned at the stake in 1656._

_Yes. But she made sure she was the last witch in England to be executed. Her burning pyre blew up the entire village. Word got around, and the witch burnings stopped._

And then something very spooky happens.

Anathema sits up even straighter than her usual posture, eyes seeming to stare through the wall at nothing. In a rich contralto voice, she intones:

_Prithee, Young Master. Be thou not gulled. Thou must not harm ye principalitee, serpente. Ware be thou about ye watch jewel. List, list, I tell thee!_

Dead silence all around. Georgia finally speaks.

_Anathema. What did you just say?_

Anathema looks around, bewildered.

_Say? I didn’t say anything._

_Yes, you did. Just now. You sounded like an older woman. _

_And like in a Shakespeare play._

Stricken, Agnes and Newt look at one another.

_Dios mio. _

_Agnes._


	11. Puzzling Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prithee, Young Master. Be thou not gulled. Thou must not harm ye principalitee, serpente. Ware be thou about ye watch jewel. List, list, I tell thee!_

Four adults and four teens sit silently, their pizza party now completely forgotten. Georgia goes and retrieves her slim little laptop from the study. Opens it up, and types as they converse.

_Let’s all try to remember what . . . Agnes? . . . just said._

Brian:_ Something about a pretty young master?_

Pepper: _Crowley calls Adam “Young Master.” _I_ think he’s being sarcastic. If he were being polite he’d say “Master Young.”_

Brian: _And I wouldn’t call Adam “pretty.” _(Bit of laughter all around.)

Wensleydale: _And something about sea gulls?_

Janet: _I think the word was “gulled,” Wensley. It’s means tricked. Deceived. Fooled._

Wensleydale: _It must be about that trick watch that Adam got on his birthday. She definitely said, “watch jewel.” And something about wearing it?_

Georgia: _Adam got a watch as a birthday present?_

Adam_: Yes. A delivery man brought it to the tea shop. When Madame Tracy treated us to a birthday lunch. My dad checked with the delivery company, but they had no record of any such package._

Brian:_ It was a really fancy watch. With gold and diamonds._

_Definitely a jewel, then?_

_Yes!_

_What did you do with the watch, Adam? I see you’re not wearing one._

_Dog and I buried it in the yard. It’s a trick watch. It burns people._

Georgia: _I think I’d better see this watch, Adam. _

Adam:_ Crowley already had some experts take a look at it. It’s . . . it’s . . . Well, he says it’s dangerous. That’s why we buried it._

Georgia:_ I’d still like to see the watch. And have a talk with Crowley. _

Janet:_ If a demon says something is dangerous, one can only imagine how . . . _

Brian:_ Wensley said he heard something about wearing the watch. That’s what I heard, too. But it was said in a funny way. Like, “Wear thou the watch jewel.”_

Pepper:_ And t__here was something about not harming a serpent. “Principally serpent?” _

Janet:_ I think the word was “principality.” It means a small state run by a prince. I think Monaco is still called a principality. And Liechtenstein. Is Crowley a prince of some sort? He seems to dress very stylishly, and is reputed to be quite wealthy._ (A thought occurs) _Crowley has snake eyes behind those dark glasses he wears, doesn’t he. Could he be the “serpent” Agnes mentioned? He’s not human? He’s a serpent prince?_

The Them look at one another. Adam remembers those pterosaur wings he saw the other day.

Adam: _I don’t think he’s a prince of Earth. _

Georgia sighs. _Yes. That could make sense. _(She thinks to herself, “_Assuming anything about mythical beings makes sense." _) _Would Uriel know, perhaps?_

Janet: _She’s off bicycling around. Says she has to return to Heaven tomorrow to make a report of some sort, and she’d like to enjoy being in the village for one more night._

Pepper: _ Agnes said not to harm the serpent._

Adam: _Aziraphale and Crowley are in London. But they’ll be back tomorrow. We should ask them then. I’ll message them to meet us tomorrow morning._

Georgia looks over the notes she’s made so far.

_Well. Let’s see what we have so far. Possibly the message was for Adam. It seems to have been about not being tricked into letting Crowley, a serpent prince, wear the watch? That Adam should wear it?_

Wensleydale: _ And something about making lists. At the very end. She seemed very concerned about lists._

Georgia: _Making lists of what, I wonder?_

She shows them a transcription of the prophecy:

_I edited the thees and thous. I never could get straight which are which._

“Pretty Master Adam. Be not gulled. You must not harm the principality serpent. Wear the watch jewel. List, list. I tell you.”

* * *

Adam lives near Jasmine Cottage, where Anathema and Newton are staying for their Tadfield visit. The three dismount their bikes before the gate to Adam’s house. Newt speaks.

_Well, Adam, it’s been an interesting visit this year, hasn’t it? You’ll be keeping in touch, of course?_

_Yes, I will. Anathema, I have a question for you._

_About what, Adam?_

Adam hesitates.

_It’s about auras. Aziraphale and Crowley’s auras. Did you go to Madame Tracy’s or the bookshop last weekend?_

Anathema guesses what’s coming.

_Pretty spectacular display, wasn’t it?_

_Yes! Were they . . . were they . . . doing it?_

Newton looks at Anathema. They’d had a little discussion about this, themselves. They’re worried that Adam is going to say something like, _“But they’re both men!” _She merely nods.

_It was so bright! All those colors! And I’ve never seen flares of dark blue like that. _

_Adam, have you looked at Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s auras when they’re apart?_

_Yes. Aziraphale’s is very bright, like looking at the sun. Only a sort of weird purple that you can’t quite see. But Crowley’s is one of those dark auras you were talking about tonight. It’s that weird purple, too, but it’s very dark. Almost black. And it has shining white streaks._

Newton has this one.

_Noctilucent clouds._

_Newt has been helping me with aura studies, Adam. We spent some time in a little town in Alaska last fall and winter. Fairbanks. They do aurora research at the University there. Explain what noctilucent clouds are, Newt._

_They’re clouds that glow white against the dark twilight or night sky. Ice crystals high in the atmosphere. Things arriving from outer space, such as meteorites or satellite remnants, seem to trigger condensation of the ice crystals. They’re so high in the atmosphere that they can catch sunlight even when the earth below is dark. They’re rather spooky. _

_Do y’ think Crowley is evil?_

_No. I think his aura is black because . . . something terrible happened to him. But he’s still capable of reacting to supernatural energy, hence the white clouds. That’s just a hypothesis, of course. Newt and I are continuing to study all this._

_Demons are fallen angels, aren’t they?_

_Well, that’s the tradition. I don’t really know. Hell is supposed to be a place of fire and torment. So if he really did fall from Heaven into Hell, that could certainly be an explanation for a dark aura._

_Is he dangerous?_

_I suspect he is very dangerous. And he seems to have little concern for us humans. Perhaps because he and Aziraphale are immortal. I imagine our brief lives appear to them as leaves on trees. Green in spring, dead by winter. But he is obviously in love with Aziraphale. Did you notice how the colors in their combined auras are extraordinarily vivid?_

_Yes. That’s what I wanted to ask you about. It was like a rainbow! It was so beautiful!_

_Anathema and I went to Fairbanks last year because the winters there are very dark – short days – and that makes the colors in the polar auroras easier to see. Auroras happen all year long, of course. But dark winter nights make them much more visible than they are in summer. Those blue flares you mentioned? Those are very rare. Perhaps Crowley is the night sky to Aziraphale’s aura?_

Anathema looks at Adam closely.

_You haven’t discussed this with our angel friends, have you, Adam?_

_No. They say they don’t see auras. _

_You remember what I said about auras being very private and personal?_

_Yes._

_Adam, if we witches have learned one thing, it is that questions that haven’t been asked should not be answered. _

Adam considers this.

_That reminds me, Anathema. Why don’t I have an aura? You said you couldn’t see mine._

_I just wasn’t up high enough, Adam. Your aura isn’t visible up close because the flare covers most of southern England. I can see it when we’re flying in on a plane, from about 30,000 feet. It’s a rainbow._

_Well p’rhaps that’s why Agnes calls me “pretty,” y’ think?_


	12. Forgiven

The Them, Crowley, and Aziraphale are at the Hogback Wood hideout. Adam has brought the watch, still in the plastic box, and placed it upon the ground. Dog is standing guard over it.

_I think we need to hear exactly what Agnes said._

Crowley walks over to Pepper. Snaps his fingers, sending her into a trance. The demon places a hand alongside her forehead. 

_Pepper. Tell us what Agnes said._

He raises his other hand and declaims in perfect Elizabethan English (after all, he met Shakespeare personally):

_Prithee, Young Master. Be thou not gulled. Thou must not harm ye principalitee, serpente. Ware be thou about ye watch jewel. List, list, I tell thee!_

Snaps his fingers again, Pepper comes out of her trance.

Adam is concerned.

_Crowley. You should have asked her permission before you did that._

_What did he do?_

_He hypnotized you. And repeated your memory of what Agnes said._

Adam speaks in a quiet but authoritative voice.

_Apologize, Crowley._

Crowley looks baffled. Then shrugs, extends his arms and bows slightly to Pepper.

_I am sorry, Pepper. I should have asked your permission. Forgive me._

Crowley maintains his supplicatory posture. Aziraphale interjects:

_You must say, “I forgive you,” Pepper. Otherwise he cannot move._

_I don’t want to forgive him._

_You must. Resentment hardens the mind. _

Pepper is skeptical, but trusts the angel.

_I forgive you. I don’t like you. But I forgive you._

Crowley resumes his usual louche demeanor, looks at Aziraphale.

_That little apology would have earned me a visit from Hastur and Ligur, back in the day. _

_You continually surprise me, Crowley._

The demon turns back to Pepper.

_You’ve forgiven me. I am now obliged to make amends. Do you a good turn. And it is this: a piece of advice._

The demon subtly transforms until he appears to be a young man of about age 18. An extremely attractive one. Sinfully, devilishly attractive. Like someone out of a video game or an airbrushed boy band photo.

_Watch out for bad boys like me, young witch._

And once again he’s back to adult Crowley. Pepper is speechless with indignation. Aziraphale is aghast.

_Crowley! _

_She’s of age to know. Witches are susceptible to demons. Who better to tell her than me? _

_Well. Yes. I suppose you would know. _

_I am not a witch!_

_Beg to differ, kid._

_Crowley, that’s enough of this. _

_You can talk to me about it later, Pepper._

Aziraphale flicks his fingers. Crowley jumps, then places a hand on his backside.

_Ow! When Aziraphale is present, of course. Don’t misunderstand me._

The demon regards Aziraphale.

_Tsk, tsk, tsk. That wasn’t nice._

One of those pauses all around in a conversation. Adam finally speaks up.

_Crowley. Aziraphale. What should we do about the watch?_

Aziraphale explains.

_“Prithee” is an old-fashioned word for “please,” Adam. And Agnes calls you Young Master for the same reason Crowley does. She tells you to not be tricked. She tells Crowley, the serpent, not to harm me, the principality._

Wensleydale pipes up:

_How are you a little country, Aziraphale? Do you own Monaco, or something?_

_Ah. I see the source of confusion. Principalities are the highest of the third tier in the hierarchy of angels. I am a principality. _

_And is Crowley really a serpent?_

_I’m THE serpent, kid. The one who tempted Eve to eat the apple._

_Yes. Well. To continue. When Agnes says “ware the watch jewel,” she is saying _beware _the watch._ _W-a-r-e, not w-e-a-r. And “list” means “listen.” She repeats it for emphasis. “Listen, listen to me!” _

Crowley looks at the watch, which is still being guarded by Dog, who growls.

_There’s something about this watch that is dangerous to Aziraphale. And I think I know what it is. May I handle it, Adam?_

_You don’t think it will hurt you?_

_Hasn’t so far, has it?_

Dog growls menacingly as Crowley approaches. His eyes go red.

_Dog. Let Crowley have the watch._

Dog lies down, but continues to growl softly. Nonetheless lets the demon take the watch out of the box. Crowley inspects the watch as it lies open in his hand. Walks a few yards distant from the group. He arranges the strap into a cylinder, as if it were placed around someone’s wrist, and snaps the clasp shut

A gout of fire blazes upward for about a meter. Also downward through his palm. The watch is glowing red. Crowley is unaffected. He unsnaps the hot clasp without burning his fingers. The little inferno ceases.

_Hellfire. It would have killed Aziraphale._

Aziraphale walks over and stands before Crowley. Places his hands upon the demon’s shoulders.

_Thank you, Crowley. At last I can say that without fear of summoning retribution upon you._

Pepper doesn’t waste time having moments.

_Crowley, how come you could handle it? You aren’t burned at all._

_It was Hellfire. Anything that could burn away in me was gone a long time ago._

_So Hell really is a burning hot place? _

_You better believe it._

_And they torture people there?_

_Yep._

_Did you torture anyone?_

_Nope. Not my scene, really. My talents lie elsewhere._

_Were you tortured?_

A wince of bottomless sadness flickers across Crowley’s face before he sighs resignedly:

_I’m a demon. Pain is the game._

He tosses the watch to the ground at Adam’s feet.

_Take the watch, Adam. _

Adam hesitates.

_I’m not ordering you, Adam. I’m saying you must TAKE the watch. Own it. It’s yours. Not Hell’s._

Comprehension dawns in Adam’s face. He snatches the watch off the ground.

_MINE! It’s mine! _

He makes a brisk jerk, as if pulling the watch to break it loose from something. 

_Can you put it back into its diamond phase?_

A blink, and the watch glitters in Adam’s palm.

_Aha. You can do with it as you like now. It’s yours. You control it. Tell it to cease with the fire and burning. Let’s repeat our little experiment._

Adam once again hands Crowley the open watch. Crowley separates himself from the group, arranges the band as before, snaps the clasp shut. Nothing happens. Relief washes over the group like a soothing wave.

And an expression of sly unholy glee creeps over Crowley’s face.

_I have an idea for what you could do with this thing, kid. A positively divine inspiration, if I say so myself. We need to find Uriel right away._

* * *

Evening the same day. The two angels are standing alongside the small table in the backroom of the bookshop. The silver tray with the cut glass glasses and decanter of scotch is on the table. Aziraphale is about to pour them each a drink.

Crowley gazes speculatively at Aziraphale.

_So, Aziraphale. Been thinking about spankings, have you?_

_Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley. I really didn’t like hurting you._

_Hang on. You’re not going to do that again? _

_Certainly not._

_‘S not as if it really smarted. Pretty hard to hurt me._

_Bluff all you like, Crowley. I don’t believe that for a second._

Crowley regards the angel, then steps close to him, puts his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder and his arms around the angel’s waist. Aziraphale hugs him tightly.


	13. Sheep Go To Heaven

Heaven. 

Uriel, Michael, and Sandalphon’s replacement Baraquiel are gathered before Gabriel in his airy office suite with the magnificent view of Earth’s monuments.

Michael: _We’ve read your report, Uriel. I understand you have a gift from Adam Young that he requests you present personally to Gabriel?_

Uriel nods.

Gabriel_: Well, let’s have it then._

Uriel approaches, reaches into her inside pocket, retrieves an elegant jeweler’s box, and with both hands places it upon Gabriel’s desk. She then backs away to her former position.

Gabriel opens the box. The gold and diamond Apple watch lies glistening on a velvet support.

_Did Adam say anything to you about this, Uriel?_

Uriel shakes her head.

Unsure how to operate the watch, Gabriel presses both the bezel and the power buttons. White text appears:

“Wear me to communicate.”

_Have to admire his sense of style._

Gabriel examines the watch band, determines how the clasp works, slips the band over his wrist, adjusts the length, and snaps the band shut.

A cloud of hundreds of tiny colored balls explodes out of the watch, spattering him until he resembles a cupcake with sprinkles.

Uriel’s hands fly to cover her mouth. Michael smiles sardonically. Baraquiel, behind Gabriel, starts to laugh and then prudently wipes the amusement from his face.

Gabriel gestures as if to magic away the stains. To no effect. They’re demonic paint balls, and they stick.

_Looks as if you’ll have to use Holy Water to get the stains out, Gabriel. Might ruin your suit fabric, though._

Furious, Gabriel unclasps the watch, jerks it from his wrist, tosses it onto his desk.

_Did you know about this, Uriel?_

_No!_

Michael coolly assesses Uriel, decides that she’s telling the truth. Is, in fact, too terrified to lie. Walks over and picks up the watch, holding it by the strap between thumb and forefinger. Gestures to Uriel to approach. 

_I’m sending you back down to return this. Take it._

Uriel cautiously accepts the watch and slips it into an outside pocket.

Gabriel is meanwhile thinking how much he’d like to smite that little brat Adam, but is trying to maintain some semblance of dignity and not appear upset. He looks thoughtful.

_This is the demon Crowley’s doing._

Michael:_ Most likely. Definitely not Aziraphale’s style._

_Uriel, did Crowley give you the watch?_

_No! Adam did._

_According to your report, Crowley and Aziraphale are now residing together?_

_Yes._

Gabriel shakes his head in scandalized disgust.

_Unbelievable the depths to which Aziraphale has fallen. And apparently our little Antichrist is now in this revolting pair’s thrall. Michael, what is your plan to deal with this situation?_

_I recommend we keep Uriel down there to monitor events and continue to report back to us. Adam is still the Antichrist, after all. To lend Uriel assistance – even up the score a bit – I would like to pull Ammun from North Africa and dispatch him to London with her._

Michael has been in upper management a long, long, long time. She’s nearly telepathic when it comes to reading her subordinates. Uriel is trying her best to appear impassively obedient. Nonetheless Michael’s unblinking gaze catches a faint ghost of happiness as it flits across the archangel’s face. Yes. Good call on that match-up.

Gabriel: _Do you think you can manage this, Uriel? I realize it is a disgusting and unpleasant mission in many respects. However, at this point – now that we’ve lost Aziraphale - you have the most on-the-ground experience in this location. And your first task is to return this watch. Inform Adam Young that I will not forget his insolence._

Ironically, Michael and Uriel silently share the same thought: “I’m the archangel fucking Gabriel.”

* * *

Aziraphale’s bookshop in Tadfield, late afternoon. The sign on the door says “Closed.” As Uriel and a companion approach the door, however, Adam opens it and escorts them in. Closes the door behind them, and goes to join Aziraphale and Crowley by the sales table.

Uriel’s companion is a man about 1.75m tall and muscular. Copper skin, thick black curly hair and beard, and very hairy all over generally. High bridged nose in a handsome face with amused warm brown eyes.

Seeing Adam and Crowley, he transforms. An angel with the head and neck of a black karakul ram. Curled horns. Chest hair like a curly bearskin rug. Egyptian wrapped linen shendyt and gold sandals. Wings tipped with gold. Opens his arms and bows.

_Prince Crowley. Antichrist Adam. I am the Principality Ammun. Hello, Aziraphale._

Crowley purrs:

_No need for formality. _

_Yes. I mean, no. Thank you for your courtesy, Ammun. We do appreciate it. It’s simply that we’re just more informal down here these days. I’m a bit rusty on protocol and dress, myself. Perhaps you would be so kind as to transform back to human?_

Ammun, a trifle surprised, obliges. Crowley growls:

_Weren’t you a god back in the day?_

_Yes, Prince. North Africa and eastward. The god Ammon._

_Thought I remembered you._

Ammun is about to say something, but sees the look on Crowley’s face and thinks better of continuing that particular line of conversation. Uriel steps over to Adam, reaches into her pocket, and hands the watch over to him. Then she can’t contain herself further, and laughs.

_Oh, how I wish you could have seen it! I had no idea it was a trick watch! It looks very beautiful. Took Gabriel in completely. He looked so ridiculous, standing there spotted all over like it had been raining confetti. The paint wouldn’t magic out, either. Michael told him he’d probably have to use Holy Water to wash out the stains. But that water might ruin his suit. She always likes to get a little dig in when she can. Baraquiel looked as if he was about to rupture trying to not laugh. I expect every angel in heaven has heard the story by now._

Crowley and Adam grin fit to split their faces. Adam turns to Crowley and they give one another the high five.

Aziraphale smiles delightedly as he looks at the gleeful pair.

_I wondered if you two were up to something._

He regards Uriel closely.

_Uriel, have you been assigned back to Earth? Is Ammun here to assist you, perhaps?_

_Yes, Aziraphale. We’re supposed to keep an eye on you three, and will try to find a cottage here. But Ammun already knows how to drive a car, so I expect we’ll be visiting London often. It’s actually rather fun there, once you get used to it. _

_I was getting a bit fed to the teeth with North Africa and the Middle East, frankly. London feels like a vacation._

Crowley turns to Adam.

_Young Master. _

He turns briefly to gaze significantly at Ammun, so the angel can take the hint how the chain of command lies.

_May I suggest that you set the watch_ _so it will communicate between you and your gang and Pepper’s mums and Aziraphale , Uriel, Ammun, and me? Uriel can be its caretaker for the present. It would look good with her jewelry. _

Adam holds the watch in the palm of his hand, touches it with his finger. 

_I do think this would look nice with your gold jewelry. Would you wear it? _

_Of course. Thank you, Adam. Crowley, do you think our cell phones are tracking?_

_Undoubtedly. I can obtain secure phones for you. You know how to deal with the ones you’ve got._

_I think you’re better at that method than we are, Crowley._

_I have friends in London who can supply me with new phones for you both. See me here the day after tomorrow._

_Would you all like a glass of sherry? I have root beer for you, Adam, if you like. Or perhaps there is another fizzy drink you would prefer? Your mum and dad would be very severe with me if I were to serve you alcohol. _

_Thanks, Aziraphale. But if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be off to meet with the gang. We have a project we’re working on._

_By all means, Adam. We look forward to your next visit._


	14. Tartan is Stylish

[ ](https://imgur.com/4Q3R6KR)

_Julia’s Salon de Beaut__é _in Tadfield. Crowley enters. The three staff members – Julia, Peter, and Mindy – nearly drop their combs and brushes and stand open-mouthed for a few seconds before recovering their professional poise. The salon clients take a bit longer to recover themselves, and continue to stare for a bit. Then a rustle through the establishment as everyone pretends to be going back to behaving perfectly normally.

Crowley’s wearing a kilt. 

Not just any kilt. The tartan is a vibrant multicolor, the Pride of LGBT weave. He’s gone for style rather than punk or docs and a hoodie. Trim dark charcoal argyle jacket of a modernized suit cut with a bit more of a cutaway, sans the gauntlet cuffs, epaulets, and scalloped pocket flaps. Perfectly tailored in back to rest smoothly over trim hips with nary a fold. Eschewing a vest, showing instead his favorite belt with the black jade snakehead buckle. He carries the kilt colors aloft with another sinfully soft Italian pullover in ultra violet. Black leather hunting sporran with a tooled celtic serpent medallion and similar pattern in the silver frame. Crowley has slim legs, so can get away with wearing charcoal Lewis hose with their celtic cabled cuffs. Loathing ghillies, he’s sporting Prada ankle boots. Some might say the overall effect was of a bat that’s just caught a tiger moth. None of this would have caused comment in London, but in Tadfield it is a bit of an event.

Mindy won the staff draw that morning for who greets Crowley should he come in.

_Welcome, Mr. Crowley. And what might we have the pleasure of doing for you today?_

_A facial, please. Hair could use a shampoo and re-braid. _(Gestures to his kilt) _And a nail color that goes with this._

Mindy catches a cue from Peter.

_We’ll do the shampoo first, shall we, Mr. Crowley? Then the facial while your hair dries a bit._

Peter has zipped off to a corner to make a quick call.

_Oli? Can you get here right away? Crowley just came in. He’s wearing a kilt. You need to see this. . . . I don’t care if you just got up. Get in here. . . . Please._

Stowing his phone, he crosses the room to the shampoo station, where Mindy is seating Crowley, and gets to work. Crowley seems a trifle abstracted this morning, so Peter doesn’t chat much, working silently instead.

The staff work their way through the facial, manicure, and hair braiding. Peter’s friend shows up just as Crowley is standing to leave. Oli is looking rugged in his beard and workman’s kilt. Eyes meet. The two men give one another the up-and-down. Peter, in the background, jerks his head toward the staff room door, and he and Oli go in, shutting the door behind them. Crowley stands looking after them, a speculative look on his face. Then slowly walks over to the same door himself. Tries the handle. Locked. Snap of fingers. Unlocked. He enters the room to see Peter and Oli in a passionate kiss. Peter is startled and indignant.

_I thought I locked that door!_

_You did. But I wanted to speak with you a moment. Care to introduce me to your friend?_

_My name’s Oli. Short for Oliver._

_You can call me Crowley. Peter does your hair and beard for you?_

_Not that it’s any of your business._

_Don’t get shirty. I have an acquaintance who’s built like you. Newly arrived in town. Looks as if he’s been sleeping rough for quite awhile. Think you two could tackle him, get him looking fit for company? I’d send him to the barber, but I’m afraid he’d come out looking like a squaddie. _(Looks at Peter) _Perhaps you could neaten him up? _(Looks at Oli) _You could take him kilt shopping? He’s going around in desert storm fatigues at the moment. I have a guess he’d be comfortable in something similar to what you’re wearing. _

_‘S gay?_

_Don’t know. His companion is a woman, at the moment. _

Peter and Oli interpret that as “he’s dating a woman right now, but that could change.” Whereas Crowley means that his angelic female companion might decide to switch to male.

_Consider it a special commission on the shop bill? His name’s Ammun._

Peter and Oli hear this as “AH-moon.”

_‘S he a paki?_

_No. From North Africa. _

_Does he speak English? _

_Better than you. Do you need to think about it, or can I send him on over?_

Peter and Oli regard one another, then shrug. Why the hell not?

_Sure, Mr. Crowley. I can do barbering as well as styling. Guessing his nails will be a bit of a job, but no doubt Mindy’s up to it. After lunch all right? _

_Thank you, Peter. Oli? You up for some London shopping? I can leave a card for you at the bank’s customer service desk. Take Peter with you and spend the weekend. Ammun’s got his own car, no need to feel joined at the hip. If you can call that jeep he drives a car. _

_Bluddy ‘ell, why not. Might be fun._

_No need to go easy on him. He can drink anyone under the table. So, if we’re all agreed, I’ll make my way out. Will lock the door. Ta._

Crowley leaves. 

_Flash bastard!_

Peter slips his arm under Oli’s kilt and runs his hand up his thigh.

_Probably going commando, too._

_You think about him when you’re doing me?_

_No. I think about you. He just triggers the want. I love you, Oli._

[Our drone flies off and leaves them to their intimate scene.]

Oli.


	15. Tartan Kilt for Aziraphale

Art commission by Pidgy. https://www.patreon.com/pidgy/posts

Early afternoon in the bookshop. Crowley enters, lugging some large boxes and shopping bags. Drops them by the sales table. Claps his hands once, loudly.

_Everybody out, we’re closing for the afternoon. _

There are only a few customers, most having had to return to work after their luncheon break. He herds them toward the door like a skilled border collie sending sheep to the pen. Locks the door, turns the sign to “Closed.”

Aziraphale has been struck speechless through this entire proceeding. Not just by the demon’s effrontery in shooing away his clientele. Crowley’s wearing his Pride of LGBT tartan kilt. Fresh from the salon, his nails are enameled in rainbow colors to match the tartan.

_Crowley! You look . . . Well. _(He swallows.)_ Beautiful._

_So, you like it?_

Aziraphale can’t take his eyes off the demon. Breathes softly,

_Yes._

Crowley rubs his hands briskly together, starts unpacking boxes and bags onto the desk.

_Glad you feel that way, ‘cause I had some things made for you, too._

He opens a large tailor’s box to reveal a kilt, done not in the colorful LGBT weave, but a soft cream and cocoa sort of Glen plaid. Wide dark brown belt with a silver buckle engraved with celtic wings in a yin/yang position.

_I found a picture of Gene Kelly where he’s wearing a suit in this plaid. So I had some woven to match._

Opens a shoe box, to reveal a pair of two-tone brogue derby shoes in chocolate calf and beige canvas.

_Had the shoemaker use your last, so they should fit well. _

He pulls out a pair of cream Lewis hose, garters, and flashes done from the more detailed portion of the plaid weave. Opens another box containing a cream Aran sweater.

_We can have a jacket and waistcoat made on our next visit to Edinburgh. In the meantime, seeing as how it’s September, I thought you’d find this comfortable. You can wear a dress shirt under it, of course, or this:_

An Irish grandad shirt is pulled from another bag.

_And your sporran._

The soft chocolate brown hunting pouch is a thing of beauty. A central tooled medallion of flared angelic wings. Sleek silvery cantle set with a Cairngorm agate cabochon. The chain and cantle feel oddly heavy.

_Platinum. Silver’s such a nuisance to keep clean. Leaves marks if you don’t remember to keep at it. And this _(reaches a small jeweler’s box out of another bag)_ goes with the sporran._

Opens the box, revealing an antique silver Victorian kilt pin set with agate and a deep Madeira citrine.

_It was probably something made for tourists. But it’s nicely crafted, a good weight, and the stones are genuine. At first I thought stag horn, like mine, but decided this matched the sporran better._

Azaraphale looks at Crowley’s kilt pin, which is a horn tip in an antique silver cap. Crowley grins.

_Horn just seemed more appropriate for a demon, not an angel. These old Victorian pins, though – you could use them as a weapon. _

He reaches down and removes his pin, showing Aziraphale the heavy hand-forged silver shank, with a tip as sharp as a serpent’s tooth. 

_Better re-fasten this before I accidentally draw blood._

While Crowley has been fastening the pin back in place, Aziraphale has stepped over in front of him. As the demon straightens up, the angel hugs him as a child might a loving parent.

_Crowley. I don’t know what to say. You devoted so much thought to all of this._

Crowley hugs Aziraphale tightly, then claps him on the shoulders, ruffles his wooly hair.

_A thank-you will do. For now. Let’s get you dressed, shall we? Then pick something up at Madame Tracy’s. Go for an afternoon picnic._

_Thank you, Crowley. Is that a flask I feel under that jacket?_

_Does it show?_

_Not at all. Felt it just now. An emergency supply?_

_Yep. Always be prepared. Boy Scouts, or something like that?_

Crowley slips his hands beneath the angel’s Fair Isle sweater vest and pulls it off over his head. Aziraphale loosens and removes his tie, kicks off his shoes. Unbuckles his belt, steps out of his trousers. The demon steps behind Aziraphale, slips his hands into the waistband of the angel’s boxers and slides them down to his ankles

_Crowley . . ._

_‘S traditional. You’ll like it. Step out of those things. . . . Sit down. Socks go on first._

Crowley kneels, slips off the angel’s socks. Hands him the new pair, which Aziraphale pulls on, making sure the ribs are neatly vertical. Because he always does. Crowley applies the garters, adjusts the cuffs and the flashes.

_Shoes next._

Crowley helps the angel slide his feet into the shoes, ties the laces. Starts to rise from his knees, then assumes a thoughtful look. . . .

* * *

[Our lovers get a bit carried away here. Check the ending for Chapter 18, Tartans and Tequila, from _Crowley Gets a New Look _if you're interested in more M stuff.]

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/49158257>


	16. Caught in the Act

Adam is slouching homeward along Hogback Lane, anticipating the cupcakes Mum baked for tea.Hers are so good that Madame Tracy begged the recipe from her. 

_“Why, of course, Madame Tracy. But the coconut buttercream frosting isn’t mine, you know. I found it on the internet. It is wonderful, isn’t it?”_

He spots Crowley and Aziraphale in a nearby meadow, relaxing on a tartan picnic blanket under Mr. Tyler’s old apple tree. Adam thinks how excellent those apples are, and that there are probably quite a few left. He hops a stone wall and approaches the pair of angels. They’re both in kilts and sweaters.

Aziraphale is sitting against the tree, Crowley coiled around him with his head on the angel’s stomach. Aziraphale has unbraided the demon’s hair, which is now spilled across the angel’s lap as he idly strokes and runs his fingers through it. Two empty bottles of spätlese lie on the blanket amidst some savory scone crumbs.

_Hi Aziraphale. Hi Crowley. Mr. Tyler didn’t yell at you for having a picnic under his tree?_

Crowly magics an apple down from the tree, tosses it to Adam. Fetches another one, takes a giant bite from it, hands it Aziraphale, who does likewise. The two pass the apple back and forth a few times as the conversation continues. Crowley replies to Adam:

_I believe Mr. Tyler is giving that dog of his an exceptionally long walk just now. _

Adam seats himself cross-legged on the grass next to the pair as he munches his apple. It’s delicious, crisp and sweet.

_Crowley, you and Aziraphale are lovers, isn’t that right?_

_Obviously, Young Master. And this concerns you how?_

_Well, it’s like you just said. It’s obvious. You don’t try to hide anything. The whole village seems to know. But no one will actually say anything about it._

_Wrong on that, kid. Mr. Tyler has been calling us sodomites for quite some time now. Had the effrontery to write to the newspaper about us. The editor called me. Said there was no way he would publish such calumnies, but that I should know._

_Well, are you? Sodomites?_

Crowley looks up to Aziraphale, who is gazing at him with calm, loving grey eyes.

_Do you even know what that word means, kid?_

Adam nods.

_I looked it up. It has lots of meanings, but I think Mr. Tyler means two men having anal sex._

The difference between angels and parents is that angels – these two, at least – take this question as if helping to answer an easy homework problem.

_Well then, technically we’re not sodomites, kid, going by that definition. Not because there’s anything wrong with it. Just that we angels are built differently than you humans. We have no anus. So penetrative male male sex isn’t an option for us. Unless one of us becomes a woman. Then we can do it._

_You can sex change? Wicked!_

Aziraphale murmurs,

_We angels were built to love, Adam. In truth, we can only enjoy sex if we are in love. _

_Pepper needs to hear this. Some of the guys at school have been bragging about all the porn they’re getting off the internet. It makes Pepper really mad. Her mums say porn is cruel and demeaning. _

_Not something I’ve ever paid much attention to, kid. You, Aziraphale?_

_Well, I get constant requests for rare editions of the works of the Marquis de Sade. You will recollect how I did rescue his 120 Days of Sodom manuscript from the Bastille. Have done quite well brokering it through a number of sales. His books Justine and Juliette are appalling. Until motion pictures came along, they were pretty much the nadir of human sexual pathology. The Marquis is often vaunted as a martyr to freedom, but that would only be true if one viewed vicious insanity as acceptable behavior. And of course, we do not. There are certainly gray twilight areas of human thought, but the difference between night and day can be tolerably well discerned. _

_So do you think porn is bad, Aziraphale?_

Aziraphale has been on earth observing humans for 6,000 years; thus, it never even occurs to him that having this sort of conversation with a 13 year old is in any way inappropriate. He’s seen everything.

_Well, I suspect your classmates are looking for porn because they don’t know much about sex and are curious to learn? May I suggest to you that the difference between degrading porn and stimulating eroticism is the existence of consent. Sex without consent is abuse. I believe the telltale mark that distinguishes cruelty from what you humans call kinky fun, is if consent is present. So while the whole subject of human sex is complicated, perhaps that guideline will help you navigate through pornography. To figure out what might be harmful to watch, and what might be amusing._

Crowley tosses the apple core away.

_Read the Marquis’s books, did you?_

_Yes. Very sad texts from a deranged mind. And tedious beyond belief, really. As you have so often observed, Crowley, the atrocities humans think up leave Hell in the dust. “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”_

Crowley thinks, but does not voice, _“You’ve never really met Beelzebub.”_

Adam gets up to leave.

_I have to get home. Mum’s made cupcakes for tea. _

_Has she now. I don’t suppose you could subtract two for us? _

Adam grins.

_I’ll ask her. I’m pretty sure she’ll give me some. I can bicycle over to the bookstore before dinner, if that’s all right?_

_Thank you, Adam. Always a pleasure chatting with you._

After Adam has gone, Crowley pulls the angels shirt loose from his kilt, slips a hand under it to caress the angel’s chest.

_Feel like a little penetrative action, Angel?_

He feels the angel’s hairy pectorals morph into firm, satiny breasts. 

Uses his free hand to lift Aziraphale’s kilt as he glides over Aziraphale’s thigh, moving to shift and separate the angel’s legs as he positions himself between them. Some jostling and maneuvering ensues. Then . . .

_Fuck me, Crowley. Now. . . . Un-n-nhhhhhhhhhh!_

The pair stiffens as they climax in a nice, slow little Divine Ecstasy, remaining in position well through tea time.

Mr. Tyler might not be around to observe, but Mrs. Tyler has happened to go into the back garden to pick a few of the remaining fall flowers, and she notices the pair under the apple tree in the meadow. Goes into the house for the binoculars, just to make sure she’s seeing what she thinks she saw. Well! She can scarcely believe her eyes. That nice Mr. Fell! Fornicating with that Mr. Crowley! She simply cannot believe it. This is so shocking. Makes herself a pot of tea. Arranges a small table and chair on the glassed in back porch, along with a plate of biscuits, so she can keep the apple tree scene in view with the help of the binoculars. They are still at it! Ronnie has never been able to manage more than a few minutes, at best. Most disturbing behavior. Perhaps they are not actually doing what they appear to be doing? Does sex last longer when two men do it? Is this what Ronnie finds so upsetting about sodomy? How very bewildering. And on a Sunday, too. This certainly ends any invitation to Mr. Fell to participate in church events.

She has nearly finished her pot of tea when a battered old land rover roars up the lane and comes to a screeching dusty halt. A dark haired man leaps out, vaults the stone wall, and runs over to the pair. Mrs. Tyler sees him grab Mr. Crowley by his hair and pull him off Mr. Fell. The three appear to have some angry conversation. Mr. Fell hurriedly bundles up their picnic blanket. They all get into the land rover and take off at speed.

Mrs. Tyler dons her tweed jacket and wellies and makes her way over to the tree. Finds two empty bottles of some German wine. She inspects the labels. Perhaps she and Ronnie might try this some evening?

* * *

Ammun, Peter, and Oli are in Soho, at the London Gin Club per Crowley’s recommendation. The pub has been closed for the summer due to roadwork to repair the drainage in their old vault, but the work has miraculously gotten completed ahead of schedule, and they are open once again. Patrons have flocked back, and it is bustling and crowded. Crowley’s advice was on the money – the snacks and cocktails are delicious.

Amun glances at the door to see some newcomers come in. He puts down his glass, grabs Peter's and Oli’s hands.

_Look at me. Do not turn around. The pair who just came in . . . Shit! They’ve spotted me. Get up and leave. Now. Keep your eyes on the door. Don’t look around. Don’t make eye contact with anyone. The land rover’s out front. Get into the back of it and stay down. Go!_

Peter grabs Oli’s hand and they rush past the pair approaching the table, following Ammun’s instructions to the letter. Other heads turn to inspect the newcomers, but one glance convinces everyone to mind their own business. The atmosphere quiets a bit.

One person is a small bold woman, dressed in a rather Napoleonic costume. The other is a handsome – beautiful, really – Nilotic man at least two meters tall. Skin as ebony as it comes. Dressed in a dark double-breasted Savile Row suit that fits like a glove. The man has no whites to his eyes, which appear black as outer space. 

_Beelzebub. Anubis. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? And just how did you find me? It’s been awhile._

The small woman speaks:

_You angels have been warned about Adam Young, the Antichrist. Why are there now two more of you in Tadfield? Do not oppose Demon Crowley. He is the Young Master’s protector._

_You don’t really expect me to tell you why I’m in England, now do you?_

_Do not cross me, Ammun. We will be watching._

The pair turn and leave the pub. Ammun follows them, watches as they walk down the block and get into a large dark SUV. Once the vehicle drives off, he runs to where the land rover is illegally parked, the double yellow lines having mysteriously rolled themselves up. 

_Oli, where’s your car parked?_

_‘Bout six blocks away. Was a bugger having to walk here. Pull out, I’ll give you directions. Gonna tell us about that pair of terrorists?_

_Let’s find your car first. We need to get out of London immediately._

They find Oli’s beloved little vintage Jaguar. 

_Oli, drive like you’re off to your dying mother’s bedside. I’ll follow you. Don’t let anyone pull you over, just keep going no matter what and don’t stop. If you do, you’re dead._

And they’re off.

Evgeny’s tag team follows.


	17. Anubis

Ammun shoves Crowley, turns and gives Aziraphale a hand up.

_Get in the rover! Now!_

The three trot over and hurdle the stone fence, tumble into the front seats. Crowley, then Aziraphale (once again male) in the middle, Ammun driving. He slams the door, puts the idling old land rover back into gear and they take off down the lane.

_Pull my hair again, you [something guttural in an ancient language], I’ll have your balls for breakfast._

_You couldn’t bite my ass, you fookin’ toothless manky slag!_

_You sad fucking cunt!_

_Fookin’ pillock!_

_Fucking goat!_

_Don’t call me a goat, you fookin’ worm twat!_

_Bugger you, you fucking cowson!_

_Sod you, you fookin’ wazzock!_

_ Wazzock? What the Hell is that?_

Ammun and Crowley both remember to stop breathing.

_Angel, you know what a wazzock is?_

_Crowley, it took me 6000 years to utter the word “fuck.” Ammun, what’s all this about?_

_Beelzebub. Anubis. They found me in London. _

_Are Peter and Oli safe?_

_Yeah. Got ‘em out all right._

_Where are we going?_

_Dunno. Not sure of the roads around here. _

_Take a left up ahead. We’ll go to Angel’s bookshop. You give him directions, Angel. I have to make a call._

Crowley gets his phone out from wherever he’s stored it and taps the screen once.

_Talk to me._

He listens intently for several minutes as Aziraphale steers Ammun through the lanes and streets.

_Excellent. Talk to you again soon. Byvaj._

Aziraphale has been thinking.

_How did you find us, Ammun?_

_The kid, the Antichrist. Saw him alongside the road. Said you might still be by the apple tree in the meadow at the end of Hogback Lane. Fookin’ bluddy ‘ell, you two. Screwing in broad daylight? Uriel told us you were living together. She didn’t say you were fookin’ each other. Aziraphale, how could you? He’s a fookin’ demon._

Crowley says nothing, but reaches an arm across the angel’s shoulder. Aziraphale reaches up and holds his hand. Crowley leans over and takes the angel’s other hand. A mulish silence reigns until the old land rover is parked alongside the bookshop and the three are at the door. Adam strolls up, with a small cardboard box.

_Mum gave me some cupcakes for you._

The four enter the shop.

* * *

Adam doesn’t need to be psychic to detect the tension between the three men, and that they’d rather he not be present. He ups the ante for them.

_Where’s Uriel?_

Crowley reaches for his phone, but Adam is way ahead of him.

_Uriel? Where are you? . . . I’m at Aziraphale’s bookshop. I asked Mum if we could have you over for dinner. She’s made that vegetarian curry that you like. _

There is a long pause as Adam listens for Uriel’s reply.

_All right. I’ll ask Mum to save you some. There’ll probably be plenty left over. Dad isn’t much of a vegetarian. . . . I’ll tell Aziraphale. ‘Bye._

He looks at Aziraphale, worry in his young eyes.

_She says she’s decided not to stay overnight. She’ll be leaving London right away. She’ll stop by here when she gets back to town. She sounded kind of funny, Aziraphale. Will you call me when she gets here?_

Crowley has snaked off into a distant corner and is on his phone.

* * *

Uriel’s hotel room, just before Adam calls.

She’s wearing a smart pale celadon silk dress, is reaching for her jacket, as she’s about to leave for dinner. Turns in alarm when she hears her locked door open. Two humans – or at least human-shaped beings – stand in the short entry hall. She recognizes Beelzebub, but the other one . . .

They glide through the hallway and into the room light. Uriel draws her flaming sword. With a wave of her hand, Beelzebub extinguishes the flame. Uriel drops the sword like a hot brick. It begins to glow red as it burns a scorch mark into the carpet. She magics the sword back into storage. And then something strange and unexpected happens.

The talk dark figure approaches and stands before her. Stretches out his arms, and bows in a formal greeting.

_Angel. I am the Jinni Anubis._

What Uriel sees is tall, slender Nilotic man, beautiful of countenance, ebony of skin, wearing a pleated linen shendyt, a jeweled corselet in a feather pattern of greenish and blue stones, with a matching broad jeweled collar. He wears gold armlets and bracelets. A lapis blue shawl is draped over the back of his head and over his shoulders. Surrounding his human head like a ghostly helmet is the head of an enormous black wolf with golden eyes

Uriel is rapt. She morphs into formal dress: Feathered wings the pale green of the moon moth, tipped with gold. A short filmy chiton, more sparkling golden fog than fabric, clasped at the shoulders with gold fibulae. Her chocolate skin appears luminous, as if lit from within and dusted with gold powder.

_Jinni. I am the Archangel Uriel._

Forgetting entirely to bow, she instead takes a step forward, palm outstretched as if to touch the chest of Anubis. A small gold and green moth fluttering before a large black bat. She stops, sensing that she must not make contact with him. They stand silently regarding one another.

Uriel’s gold and diamond watch vibrates.

Beelzebub breaks the silence with a rasping buzz.

_That is the Young Master’s watch._

Hypnotized by Anubis, Uriel moves as if she’s underwater to tap the watch. Listens to the incoming call. Speaks in reply as if she’s coming out of anesthetic.

_Adam. I’m in London. What is happening? . . . My plans have changed, Adam. I will be leaving London as soon as we end this call. Tell your mother I will be unable to arrive in time for dinner. Thank her for the invitation, of course. . . . Tell Aziraphale I will come to his shop._

Beelzebub regards the angel intently. The angels have obviously established a connection with the Young Master. How much control does Crowley have over Aziraphale? He must know of Uriel’s presence. Is he aware of Ammun? How she’d like to twist that wily little snake. 

Beelzebub steps backward as if to leave.

_Come, Anubis._

Anubis does not move, but continues to gaze at Uriel. Beelzebub vanishes, and then he likewise disappears.

Uriel does not move for several minutes. Then magics her belongings into her overnight bag and rushes from the room.

_ _


	18. Jinn

Tadfield. Late evening in the bookshop. Uriel has returned. Adam has been notified that she’s all right. Ammun has been out driving around in his old land rover, not wanting to be trapped with Aziraphale and Crowley while awaiting Uriel’s arrival. He pulls up and parks next to Uriel’s little used Mercedes and enters the closed and locked shop. Aziraphale is half seated on the sales desk, sipping from a glass of scotch. The decanter and more glasses are nearby on a silver tray. Crowley is sprawled over one of the little Georgian brocade armchairs, wearing only his kilt, his mane of red hair draped over the back of the chair, a cut crystal glass of scotch in one hand. No dark glasses, just half-closed golden snake eyes. Uriel is sitting stiffly in the other chair, determinedly not looking at Crowley. She’s downed one scotch already – tossed it back as if it were lemonade - and is working on her second.

_Ah. Ammun. Pour you a drink?_

_Four fingers, if you don’t mind._

Aziraphale, ever the congenial host, obliges and hands Ammun a glassful.

_Now then. Ammun says he encountered Beelzebub and Anubis in a London pub. Where did they find you, Uriel?_

_My hotel room! They just walked right in. I pulled my sword, but Beelzebub extinguished it. Anubis formally introduced himself! We’d never met before. I know who he is, of course. We’ve just never crossed paths._

She pauses and takes another long drink of scotch. 

He was . . . he is . . . very beautiful.

Crowley murmurs.

_He is, isn’t he? Was he wearing that black wolf head of his? Cerberus has the glowing red eyes and fiery slobber and fangs and all the trimmings, but Anubis has Presence. Most of the candidates for damnation find him absolutely riveting._

Aziraphale interjects: 

_Well, his scales determine their fate, of course._

_Yeah! Watching the incoming line is always good for a cheap thrill. Christians expect to see St. Peter with a big ledger. Not Anubis ripping out their heart to see if it tips the scales. The look on their faces is priceless._

_Good thing they don’t have their bodies anymore. Otherwise likely to be a painful procedure, I suspect. Do you suppose he inspired the Aztecs?_

_Nah. They thought that shit up all by themselves. Typical humans._

Uriel finishes her whiskey.

_You two don’t seem unduly concerned about the appearance of these two demons._

_Anubis isn’t a demon. He’s of the Jinn. He just hangs around Hell because he likes the place better than Heaven. Dark and warm and cozy._

_Yes. That is how he introduced himself. “I am the Jinni Anubis.”_

Aziraphale pours Ammun more scotch.

_Do you know, I don’t believe I’ve met any jinn since I was assigned to London. The Almighty cobbled them together from spare parts left over from angels and animals and humans, did She not? They’re not particularly pernicious creatures, are they? Just roaming around nibbling the occasional corpse, possessing people, flying around making mischief and such?_

_Mostly, yes. They’re still all over the place from Morocco clear through to Kashgar and Kalimantan. Religious belief charges them up more than mere animism, so they go where the juice is. _

Crowley purrs:

_Anubis is in a category all his own, though. He’s like Death. The two of them are everywhere they need to be to do their jobs, but specifically only where they want to be when it comes to personal appearances. My guess is that Beelzebub was using him as her pointer to find you angels. Saves time, if you have to sort through a couple of million humans. Did she have one of her nice little messages for you?_

_She said nothing to me. Neither did Anubis. They came, she disarmed my sword, he introduced himself. And then Adam called me on his watch. Beelzebub noticed that I was wearing “the Young Master’s watch.” Then she told Anubis to come, and they left. I think Adam’s call saved me from . . . further interrogation? Or were they just telling me they know where I live?_

Ammun looks at Crowley.

_She told me that you were Adam Young’s protector. Ordered me to not oppose you, or to cross her. Said Hell would be watching. No – what she said, exactly, was, “We will be watching.” Maybe she meant herself and Anubis? _

Uriel looks surprised.

_Are you officially Adam’s protector?_

_Aziraphale and I were the only ones at Armageddon to take his side. Your lot kicked Aziraphale out of Heaven for that. My lot kicked me out of Hell. So if you’re thinking I’m on assignment from Beelzebub, think again. She tried to boil me into nonexistence with Holy Water._

Crowley puts his hands behind his head, then floats a few inches above the chair.

_These chairs are little torture racks, Aziraphale. Can we all get on with this conversation? Aziraphale and I have things to do._

_Playing chess? Reading a book together? Some new fookin’ positions to try out?_

Ammun looks at Uriel.

_I saw them doing it, Uriel. You didn’t tell us that they were fookin’ each other._

_I . . . I didn’t know, Ammun. I guessed, but I didn’t want to make unfounded accusations._

_Hang on. You two are reporting on us? Tsk, tsk. Such nasty gossipy angels. Evidently I’m not the only snake in the room._

_I had to report to Michael, Crowley. You remember our discussion. I didn’t want to report. I don’t want to go back to Heaven. I want to stay here on Earth. I have no intention of reporting anything more to anyone. Questions that are not asked need not be answered._

Ammun is looking thoughtful.

_Y’ know, this is the first time I’ve gotten a transfer order from Head Office in a millennia. Once all the B.C. excitement and that stuff in Mecca and Baghdad was over, they plopped me in Morocco and have pretty much left me to my own devices. Occasional missions to some place or another, but that’s been about it. No major projects. Not that I want to go back to being a god again. Been there, done that._

_Were you at Megiddo two years ago? _

_Oh yeah. Watching through a scope from a nearby hillside Have to say, Hastur’s performance was pretty funny._

_So, Ammun, when are you going back upstairs to do your little write-up?_

Ammun continues his thoughtful expression. Pauses a longish while before answering.

_You two are already in their bad books. There’s nothing I can say to ruin your reputations. Fook yourselves senseless, makes no difference to me. I’ll not tell tales. Still, seems a bit disgusting, behaving like humans. And collaborating with the enemy. I thought better of you, Aziraphale. You know what Beelzebub and Crowley got up to back in the day._

It’s if a heat mirage ripples through the room. Crowley’s eyes are glowing orange, and a faint shadow of pterosaur wings and claws starts to appear.

Ammun recollects a bit more about the missions Beelzebub made Crowley perform. Being a god hanging around temples in the big towns, he got more of an up close view than Aziraphale, who generally could be found wandering around in the wastelands trying to lessen the misery of impoverished herders driving their goats and sheep and camels and donkeys. Whenever he got to Jerusalem or Babylon or Alexandria or Carthage, the angel’s first mission was always to hit the local wineries and cook shops. Boiled old goat, stinking cheese, locusts, and water stored in skins gets old. He loved being assigned to influence Nero in Rome. The big city at last.

Ammun extends his arms, bows slightly.

_Forgive me, Demon Crowley. I was out of line. That comment was unjust._

_I forgive you. Your presence bailed me out a few times, did you know that? I hold no grudges, even if you are a righteous arsehole._

Ammun holds his glass as if giving a toast:

_You’re not wrong about that. _

He goes over and claps Aziraphale on the shoulder.

_And I apologize to you, Aziraphale, for accusing you of collaborating with the enemy. Didn’t realize Crowley was playing his own game. I’d heard stories through the grapevine about the Holy Water incident, but didn’t give it much credence. Thought the demons made all that up about Michael miracle-ing Crowley a bath towel._

He turns to Crowley.

_Quite an achievement, Crowley, being obnoxious enough to get kicked out of both Heaven _and_ Hell._

_Oh, Ammun, you do say the nicest things._

_As to your treatment by Gabriel and Michael, Aziraphale, Uriel told me what happened. Fook those two bastards. They want a report from me, they can come down and get it. If they can find me._

Crowley stretches, stands, walks over to Uriel and gazes at her, one hand on his hip, the other idly rubbing his chest.

_So, Uriel. Are you two little rebels going to take a lesson from Angel and me and get it on?_

_His long tongue extends and slowly licks the upper lip of his open mouth._

Uriel looks at him as if he’s a pile of cat vomit, then turns away from him, rises from her chair, and starts toward the entry.

_Crowley, you are such a disgusting piece of work. I’m leaving. _

Aziraphale escorts her to the door.

_I’m so sorry, my dear. You’re welcome to visit tomorrow, any time the shop is open. I just received an original copy of Audubon’s Birds of America that you might find interesting to look through. The prints are very beautiful, and in good condition. I think you’d very much enjoy inspecting such a lovely book._

_Thank you, Aziraphale. See you tomorrow, then. _

She gives him a peck on the cheek.

Ammun gets up and also heads for the door.

_Ammun, do you have a place to stay for the night?_

_Nah. I don’t sleep, of course. Can relax in the back of the rover if I need to. You don’t have a bottle of scotch you can spare, do you?_

_Of course. Crowley, would you be a good chap and fetch a bottle of Talisker from the liquor cabinet for Ammun? _

Crowley doesn’t move, instead magics a bottle of scotch onto the top of a small bookshelf near Aziraphale and Ammun.

_Oh. Thank you. Should have thought of that myself._

* * *

Ammun catches up to Uriel as she is about to get into her car.

_Was it just me, or does Crowley stink like a damned smoked civet cat? _

_He can be pretty pungent. When he wants to be provoking. _

_Still can’t get over him and Aziraphale. Behaving like humans._

_It seems to make them both very happy, actually. . . . Ammun, would you come with me to Janet & Georgia’s house? I know it’s silly. But I still feel a bit frightened by that visit from Beelzebub and Anubis. She could easily have discorporated me. My sword was useless. And Anubis . . . I had no idea._

_Yep, Anubis can be intimidating. ‘S his job. Crowley’s comparing him to Death was on the money. He can show up wherever he pleases. Although back in the day, he and I got along well enough. Doesn’t talk much. Just looks at you, expectant like. If you don’t watch yourself, pretty soon you find yourself babbling. Not an evil being, though. Unlike Beelzebub, that traitorous rat bastard . . . well, let’s not think about her, shall we? Tell you what, let’s go for a drive in my rover. Neither of us needs to sleep, we may as well work our way through this bottle of Aziraphale’s scotch._

_Let’s take my Mercedes. It’s a more comfortable car, and I know the lanes and streets around here better than you do._

_Mercedes it is then. Leather seats?_

_Yes._

_Excellent._

* * *

_The Mercedes purrs to a stop at the end of Hogback Lane. An apple tree shines in the half moonlight falling upon the meadow on the other side of a small stone wall._

_This is Adam’s favorite apple tree. The fruit really is delicious. There’s probably some left. Shall we go pick a few?_

_Uriel, this is the place Aziraphale and Crowley were fookin’. Under this very tree._

_Well, let’s not let that stop us. C’mon._

They get out of the car, step up and over the stone wall, walk over to the tree, magic a few apples down from the upper branches, and each crunch away at one.

_Mmmf! You’re right, these are fantastic apples. Hand me that other one, will you please?_

They finish their apples, gaze into the distance over the moonlit rolling farmlands.

_It’s so peaceful here. Are you planning on staying?_

_Thought I’d head to Edinburgh tomorrow, actually. But I’ll be back. Have to find some sort of lodging. Wouldn’t do to have the locals thinking I’m some poor homeless rascal sleeping out of his rover._

Uriel moves closer to him, hugs him. Runs her hands under his jumper and over his back.

_Take off your shirt._

Ammun considers the odd feeling stealing over him, decides to roll with it. Removes his t-shirt and jumper and tosses them to the ground. Uriel puts an arm around his waist, her head upon his shoulder, caresses his chest, tickling her long nails through his curly hair.

. . .

In the shadow of a hedgerow, a large black wolf lies down with its head upon its crossed paws, watching the two angels through the night until they leave at the first gray light of dawn.


	19. Gossip

A miserable rainy Monday afternoon, Madame Tracy’s tea shop. Madame Tracy and three of her gossips – Beryl, Myra, and Edith - are having an early tea. Pepper is tending the counter, as traffic is light due to the cold pouring rain.

_Well, dears, everything seems to be coming together nicely for the harvest festival next weekend. We have many, many volunteers this year, and I expect the turnout to be good. _ _It would be nice to earn enough to have the organ tuned. It’s been several years, and it’s starting to sound as if it needs it._

Beryl (Mrs. R. P. Tyler) lowers her voice.

_Mr. Fell is not on the volunteer list, I hope?_

_Well of course he is, Beryl. He’s been one of our staunchest supporters._

Beryl glances over her shoulder at Pepper, then speaks in a whisper,

_I do not think that would be wise. I saw him and that Mr. Crowley fornicating under our apple tree yesterday afternoon!_

Heads lean in. Hushed voices.

_Why Beryl, whatever do you mean?_

_Well what do you think I mean? They were . . . they were having sex. _

_How could you tell what they were doing? That apple tree is a bit far from your house, if I recall._

_I used our binoculars to make sure I was seeing what I thought I had seen._

Madame Tracy is sitting across from Myra. They both exchange a swift glance and hurriedly take a sip of tea.

_And what exactly did you see, Beryl, that made you think they were . . . er . . . frolicking?_

Beryl is turning a bit pink.

_Well. They were lying down and hugging and kissing one another. Mr. Crowley had one hand under Mr. Fell’s jumper. And those skirts they’ve been wearing around?_

Edith elaborates.

_Kilts. The Scots wear them. _

Madame Tracy fondly recollects one of her former patrons, an old retired Scottish paratrooper who wore a kilt. Said it made the whippings more convenient, as then they could spend more time having tea and a cozy chat afterward.

_Men seem to like them as an excuse to not have to wear underwear. Do you suppose they were naked underneath?_

That comment deepens Beryl’s flush.

_They had their skirt fronts up around their necks._

_Ooo, weren’t they being naughty boys! Who was on top? _

Madame Tracy puts a dollop of cream and jam on a bit of scone and takes a sip of tea.

Beryl swallows, with difficulty.

_That Mr. Crowley. They kept it up for over an hour._

Myra clenches her jaw and stares at a floral painting on the wall in an effort to not spew her tea as Madame Tracy whispers:

_Kept it up, Beryl, dear? For over an hour? Most men have a hard time doing that for more than five minutes, let alone a whole hour._

Beryl now resembles a beet wearing a hat.

_That’s not what I meant! I meant they persisted in their degenerate behavior for over an hour._

_Mr. Fell had his knees up the whole time?_

A strangled whisper:

_Only one knee. They were sort of sideways._

Edith glances at Myra and Madame Tracy, takes up the tea pot and reaches across the table to pour Beryl some warmer tea.

_Oh Beryl, how very distressing for you. Here, now you try one of these iced cupcakes with sprinkles. The coconut frosting is simply too delicious to pass up. Myra, Madame Tracy? Let’s all have one, too, while we consider Beryl’s news._

The four sit silently munching and sipping, digesting more than cupcakes.

Acoustics are tricky. If Beryl thought they were speaking in tones too low for Pepper to hear, she is mistaken.


	20. Harvest Festival

Harvest Festival

Madame Tracy, Beryl, Myra and Edith had concluded their Monday afternoon tea with an agreement to keep Beryl’s account of Mr. Fell’s and Mr. Crowley’s shenanigans to themselves. And to simply tell Mr. Fell that this year they had so many volunteers for the festival, he was free to attend without having to do some service.

Alas, Beryl had made the mistake of telling Ronnie that morning at breakfast, and he went into an indignant rant about perversion and indecency during his afternoon scotch and lemon at the Bull and Fiddle. By the end of the week, the tale has expanded into a lurid scenario of Crowley & Aziraphale rolling naked in the field and committing whatever scandalous acts most stimulated the tale tellers’ imaginations.

So when they both walk through the door into the harvest festival at the parish hall, a little ripple goes through the crowd. Like sardines in a school, heads turn and then quickly turn back.

They’re heading to London afterward. Crowley is in his Oscar Wilde, Mafioso garb, and Aziraphale is managing to look smart in a Savile Row puppytooth tweed suit in a misty lilac. His golden Italian silk velvet bow tie makes him look delicious enough to eat. It pays to have a demon valet.

* * *

Pepper had informed Aziraphale what Beryl Tyler said about them. 

_That horrid old busybody, Mrs. Tyler, told Madame Tracy and two of her friends about you and Crowley making love under their apple tree. She told all the details. I suppose you really did do that?_

_Oh yes. It was quite a nice afternoon. We did get a bit carried away. _(Laughs.)_ There seems to be something in those apples, perhaps?_

_Adam steals them all the time, and he never . . . well, you know. But it’s not funny, Aziraphale. People are already saying nasty things about you. That toe rag Greasy Johnson was sniggering all around school. Calling you “faggots.”_

_Pepper, I trust you did not engage him?_

_You mean, punch his fat face? I wanted to. Thought about kicking him, too. But I’m trying to be a zen warrior, like Sensei Inoue._

Aziraphale had persuaded his kendo instructor to retire to Tadfield and open a small dojo. He and Pepper practice twice a week. With boxwood swords. The flaming blue sword is for use in the Mayfair flat only.

_Thank you, Pepper, for letting me know what’s going on. I think Crowley and I will be able to deal with the situation. We’ll see you four at the harvest festival on Saturday, of course?_

_Yes. My mums are baking apple pies to sell as pieces or wholes. I have to help out at their sales table._ (Grins.) _Adam brought over a whole bushel of apples. Said he and Crowley picked them. I can guess from what tree, can’t you? Enough for fifteen pies! We’ll have to have a regular production line going in the kitchen. Georgia thinks our new convection oven can handle it. Our old stove would have burnt a hole in the floor._

* * *

Aziraphale walks up to the literature table that Beryl Tyler is manning. He’s holding a small paper plate with a slice of Janet and Georgia’s apple pie and a disposable fork. 

_Good afternoon, Mrs. Tyler. I want to thank you for relieving me of my volunteer slot. Mr. Crowley wanted to take a jaunt to London today, and I was wondering how to inform you that I would not be able to volunteer as planned. So needless to say, I was quite relieved to learn that you have so many volunteers this year that my assistance was not required. _

Beryl still feels severe and disapproving, would really like to tell Mr. Fell in no uncertain terms what a stunning disappointment he is. She struggles to find the words to maintain the agreed upon tactful lie.

_Yes, Mr. Fell. You have been most generous with your assistance in the past. But we didn’t want to turn away enthusiastic new volunteers. So we thought it best to not impose upon your time for this occasion._

_Yes indeed, volunteers are often hard to recruit. It is absolutely the best idea to maintain as large a pool as possible. I understand entirely._

_So good of you, Mr. Fell._

_Dear lady, by way of a thank you for letting me off the hook, so to speak, please accept this delicious-looking piece of apple pie. Here, try a bit while there are no purchasers present._

He cuts a bite-sized piece off with the fork, and hands the fork and the plate to Beryl_. _She doesn’t want to ruin her lipstick, but decides she really has no choice but to eat the bite. Mr. Fell looks so kind and earnest and eager to please. And the pie is indeed delectable. The perfect blend of flaky, sugared crust, tender tart/sweet apples, a hint of cinnamon. 

_Mm. Very nice, Mr. Fell. Thank you so much._

_You’re very welcome. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to back to Janet and Georgia’s table to pick up a pie for Mr. Crowley and me. Have to hop skip, before they’re all gone. Please give my regards to Mr. Tyler. Good day._

Beryl abstractedly continues to take forkfuls of pie, despite her lipstick, until there are only a few tiny crumbs left. It’s been a while since she’s baked an apple pie. She wonders if there is enough fruit left on the tree to make one for Ronnie.

She reflects how, while Mr. Fell is so scandalously immoral, he is nonetheless such a kind and considerate man.

* * *

Mr. Tyler sees the two angels make their entrance. He watches Aziraphale walk a quarter of the way around the room, purchase a pie slice from those two lesbians, and then go over to where Beryl is manning the literature table. He fails to notice Crowley snaking his way in the opposite direction around the margins of the crowd, and jumps when the demon comes from behind him.

_Ah. Good afternoon, Mr. Tyler. I’d like to have a little chat with you._

Crowley pulls a delicious looking apple from . . . somewhere, along with a rather disturbing little pocket knife that seems to have an obsidian blade. As he speaks, he slices into the apple, then gives it a twist and breaks it into two halves. Hands Mr. Tyler one.

_Please. Share an apple with me. _

_Is this one from my tree?_

_Of course. They’re the best in town. I wouldn’t have the effrontery to offer you anything less. Take a bite._

Crowley, of course, can give lessons in Lurking and Menace. He’s especially good at Menace, as through the centuries he’s discovered that it saves a lot of wear and tear on clothing. Violence can get so messy. So when he tells Tyler to “Take a bite,” it’s an order, not a request.

Tyler complies. Crowley takes a large bite out of his half, stands chewing as if in thoughtful enjoyment. The thought running on replay through Tyler’s mind is the memory of an encounter five days earlier, when Shadwell had followed him out of the Bull and Fiddle.

_Hoy, Tyler. Ye’d best be careful spreading tales about those two Southern nancy boys. I think Mr. Crowley’s mafia. Word to the wise?_

Crowley finishes his apple half.

_I understand that apple tree does not really belong to you._

Tyler starts to protest, but can’t, because what Crowley has just said is true.

_In fact, I’ve learned that Farmer Benjamin Croll has been offering to sell you that meadow across the lane for some time now. He wants to retire. Not have to manage his fields any more. Offspring all off doing other things, no one wants to farm. Wife has inherited a cottage on the Isle of Man or something, and they’d like to move there. I’m curious why you have not taken him up on his offer. Surely you don’t want him selling his lots to some developer? His price that he told me he suggested to you seemed a most reasonable offer._

Tyler hasn’t taken up Farmer Croll’s offer because he thinks the lots are unsaleable. Why pay for the cow when the milk’s for free? No sense in taking on a higher rate just to maintain the quiet and view from the back of the house if someone else is already doing that. He swallows the apple bite he’s been chewing as if preparing to make a reply, but Crowley purrs on:

_So I thought you might be interested to know that I have purchased Croll’s farm. Made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. _

A reasonably generous - but not extravagant - offer. Crowley is a veteran of the real estate wars surrounding the acquisition of local land for the performance driving course. Farmer Croll couldn’t believe his luck and practically skipped out of the office after signing the preliminary papers, arthritic knees be damned.

_ The tree from which this apple came is now mine and Mr. Fell’s. You may, of course, as neighbors, help yourselves to its fruit now and in the future._

Tyler manages to choke out a strangled, _“Surely you’re not going to start a development?”_

_Not sure yet. A resort, perhaps. But if in the future you and Beryl happen to observe something in the meadow that you find upsetting, may I suggest you simply pull the curtains? Eat up, now. Don’t waste that good apple. _

Crowley glides off the intercept Aziraphale, who has just finished his conversation with Beryl. He’s barely five yards away before the long-eared bystanders move off to tell all their friends the oh-so-interesting things they’ve just overheard.

* * *

Aziraphale fights his way upstream through the crowd and successfully purchases a pie, along with a quilted calico pie/casserole tote from an assortment that the seamstress at the next table has brilliantly coordinated with Janet and Georgia to have available for sale. Marketing synergy at the church bazaar.

There is a tea service counter along the kitchen, where Deirdre Young, Adam, Brian, and Wensleydale are manning a deep fat fryer and turning out what appear to be balls of fried and sugared dough, advertised as “Malasadas.” 

_Aziraphale! You have to try these! It’s a recipe Mom found on the internet. They make them in Hawaii._

Wensleydale pipes up:

_They’re from Portugal, actually. People from Portugal went to Hawaii to work in the sugar cane fields there._

Brian adds:

_My aunt and uncle went to Hawaii last winter, and told us how good these were. But they’re really best when they’re warm. Like right now. _

Aziraphale tries one, and is delighted.

_My word, these really are a treat! How about a bag of a dozen?_

Deirdre and her crew take care of his purchase, reminding him:

_I’ve double-bagged these Mr. Fell, but do be careful, the grease seeps through rather quickly, and you don’t want to get any of it on your nice suit._

Crowley slides up, and relieves Aziraphale of the pie carrier.

_Here, I’ll take that. You keep that bag at arm’s length, will you?_

He turns to the malasada crew:

_Pleasure seeing you all. Looks like the event is going to be a success. But we must be off. Aziraphale?_

_Good day, all. Thank you._

* * *

The two angels exit the parish hall, approach the Bentley. Aziraphale goes to walk around to the passenger side, but Crowley stops him.

_Hang on. You’ve got sugar crumbs all over your face._

Before Aziraphale can raise a hand to brush them away, Crowley leans forward, takes the angel’s chin between his thumb and fingers, and extends a surprisingly long and supple tongue to lick off all the sugar. Then tenderly nibbles and kisses Aziraphale.

_Hoy, you faggots, get a room!_

It’s Greasy Johnson and his little gang, hanging alongside the building.

Crowley places the pie carrier atop the Bentley, takes Aziraphale by an elbow and escorts him over to confront the truculent teens. Who become discernably less truculent the closer the pair gets. The closer Crowley gets, at least.

_Master Johnson, is it?_

_Yer._

_Displays of affection make you uncomfortable, Master Johnson? Or were you baiting us because you think we’re gay?_

_You _are_ gay._

_And that possibility concerns you because . . . ?_

An uncomfortable silence while various snappy comebacks fail to come to young minds. Then:

_‘Scuse me, Greasy, but he’s right, you know. Only old people think being gay is bad. You don’t want to sound like your granddad._

Greasy’s grandfather is the bane of his daughter-in-law’s existence. He and Mr. Tyler could be father and son when it comes to yelling at teens for walking on lawns, having any sort of visibly carefree fun. Mrs. Johnson thanks heaven daily that Greasy is adopted and does not share the crotchety old bastard’s genes.

Aziraphale steps forward:

_I say, gentlemen. Would you take this bag of doughnuts off our hands? I purchased them so as not to disappoint friends, but there are really too many for us to eat. They’re best when they’re warm. Shame to waste them. _

He holds the bag in front of Greasy. It gives off a perfume of sweet fried deliciousness. Mildly bewildered, Greasy accepts the bag. Considers some sort of mouthy retort, but . . . Doughnuts. His friends are already moving closer.

Crowley is delighted at not having to deal with an oily bag upon the seats of the Bentley.

_Well. Pleasant as it is chatting with you gentlemen, we must be off. Good day. _

_Th-thanks, Mr. Fell._

Aziraphale has picked up a phrase from The Them:

_No worries._


	21. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit at the beginning shares a chapter in Crowley Gets A New Look.  
Illustration by Aiwa.

_London. Crowley’s Mayfair apartment. Aziraphale and Crowley enter, go straight to the bedroom, shed their overcoats and suits and don dressing gowns. Aziraphale’s is a pale lavender flannel plaid with golden silk velvet lining, fastened with a twisted purple and gold cord. It looks comfortable enough to spend the rest of one’s life in. Crowley wanders off to the liquor cabinet and calls back, _

_How about a bottle of port?_

_Just the ticket._

_They both know what they’re going to do when they finish their wine, so ensconce themselves on the bed, backs against giant pillows._

_I say, Crowley, this American ruby is quite nice. Especially with this dark chocolate. _

_Venezuelan chocolate. I love it. Which reminds me. I have to go to Panama next week. Business. Don’t leave Tadfield while I’m away. Not for any reason. . . . No, there’s nothing to worry about. Just a routine trip. Here, drink up._

They sit companionably and work their way through their port. After Aziraphale finishes the last sip, Crowley magics the glasses and bottle off to the kitchen.

_Angel. What about going formal dress and seeing what we can manage?_

_Crowley, do you think that’s wise? We’re at full power when we manifest in those forms. Wouldn’t do to get carried away. We could injure one another._

_Yep. Those horns of yours could certainly mess me up. Getting myself battered and punctured might smart a bit._

_And you nearly broke a couple of my ribs that time I changed back too soon and you fell on me._

_We should have a change word. What should it be?_

_Hm. Something that comes easily to mind. Nothing tricky. A good word, or a bad word?_

_Bad, I think. But nothing common, like fuck or damn or shit or bugger._

_“Michael.”_

_Now that’s positively inspired. Definitely a word to quash any excitement. “Michael” it is._

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, gets up and removes his robe. Walks to the most open place in the room, atop the heavy Tabriz carpet. In less than an eye blink, he’s now two meters tall, with a tawny urial ram’s head and neck. Massive ivory horns spiraling outward to complete a full circle, tips pointed forward. Dark gray eyes with horizontal pupils. Long snowy beard and chest ruff combination that stretches to his waist. Wings tipped with gold. Egyptian wrapped linen shendyt and gold sandals. He kicks off the sandals and unwraps the shendyt, sending sandals and garment to the edge of the room. 

An enormous black python with fiery stripes and a viper’s eyebrow horns dipped in red gold glides off the bed and across the floor to the angel. Unconstrained by gravity, Crowley serpentines upward along Aziraphale’s legs, across his lower back and up along his backbone between his wings. The angel can feel the belly scales ripple and massage his skin as the serpent moves. The demon drapes himself across the angel’s now noticeably broader and more muscular shoulders. His large wedge-shaped head rests atop the angels’ snowy cascade of neck and chest ruff, flicking a thick forked tongue. Pterosaur wings flare out. Huge amber claws hook around the tips of Aziraphale’s curled horns and pull his head back until his muzzle is nearly vertical Aziraphale reaches his arms up to pull his horns a bit more forward to relieve some of the arch in his back, but it’s a bit of a tussle. Crowley is slightly contracting all over, like a giant sinuous round vise. 

. . .

Several hours later, Aziraphale finally gasps, _“Michael.”_

_I thought maybe you’d bleat, or something like that._

_Really, my dear._

_What a charge, eh? I feel like Hercules. OK, a skinny Hercules. But you know what I mean._

_I do. Feel as it electricity should snap from my fingertips._

He extends a finger and pokes Crowley, but nothing alarming happens.

_Well, there’s a relief, at least. Wouldn’t do to go around zapping static charges into whatever I touch. Probably ruin my cell phone._

_Pull out your sword._

Aziraphale reaches out an arm, and his beautiful Japanese sword appears in his hand. The flames are a blinding bluish white, flaring like restless sea foam along the blade.

_Whoa._

* * *

A vintage Bentley whisks along the main street of a London suburb and into a parking garage. A barred and bolted rolltop doorway marked with electricity signs and “Danger: Do Not Enter” magically opens and the Bentley disappears down a corridor, to resurface some blocks later in the small concrete parking garage beneath a nondescript office building. Crowley parks his car and walks over to the elevator to Evgeny’s office. His long red hair has been cut to a short generic length and is now black. He’s dressed as a somewhat shabby eco-tourist, sans any bright distinguishing colors on his used Patagucci gear from which he has been careful to remove all labels.

. . .

Midnight, Colon, Panama. Evgeny, Bohdan, and Crowley lurk around what appears to be a small electrical cabling or transformer box half a block from a local bank. 

_Do it._

Crowley transforms into a snake, glides effortlessly through a slit in a ventilation grid and disappears. Bohdan has gripped Evgeny’s hand, mutters in a Belarusian dialect,

_God, I hate it when he does that._

Evgeny pulls Bohdan’s hand around his back and embraces him in a tight hug until Bohdan’s shivering subsides. They move away from the box and lean against an adjacent rusty chainlink fence, smoking silently as they await the demon’s return. Bohdan’s small sandy face is lit by what appears to be a cell phone, revealing a peculiar pattern of disruptive makeup under the dark knit cap that he’s wearing despite the steamy heat of the rainy season. The display is a very unusual app. It is, in fact, unique. His own.

Three sinister locals come out of the shadows and approach the pair. Evgeny looks up when they’re about 3 meters away.

_Nyet._

Taking a look at what is in his hand, they think better of what they had originally planned, and ooze off down the grimy street through the dark shadowy stretches where various street lights have burned out.

_He’s in._

Panamanian banks had enjoyed their turn as a hiding place for international wealth fleeing taxation, but efforts of the United States and the endemic presence of the CIA in Latin America had succeeded in largely choking off that particular refuge. But while the important money was carefully moved out to new locales, less care was taken to maintain the security structures afterward. Bohdan’s team found the vestigial links, and followed the breadcrumbs to Singapore, Hong Kong, Cyprus, the Caribbean, Georgia . . . Crowley’s ability to slip through electrons, follow the wiring, and pipe software patches into certain devices was the magic key.

Money is fungible, and communication links can be nearly instantaneous. Over the next few hours amounts of a few thousand dollars are siphoned out of millions of accounts and agglomerated into other mysterious accounts. Backup data worldwide displays some mysterious gaps and corrupted data when investigators review it the next day. Beijing is nonplussed to discover some puzzling large transfers out of offshore accounts into its own coffers, but decides to not share this information with the international investigators; however, careers of certain cadres are now under a thundercloud of suspicion.

Later that afternoon, three forgettable tourists depart Colon for Costa Rica. Two travel from there back to London. A third heads for remote Rincón de la Vieja volcano.

* * *

The Gates of Hell. An enormous serpent glides out of the stygian gloom and into the flickering red light. Cerberus gives a bound over the line of the incoming candidates for damnation, executes a play bow before the serpent. The snake throws a coil over the monstrous dog’s back, and the two roll and wrestle for some minutes, diverting all but those having their hearts ripped out by Anubis at the weigh station. Both Anubis and the snake observe a disposable demon trot through the gate. Their eyes meet. The snake hisses in an ancient language:

_Go to Ammun._

Anubis gestures, and Cerberus rolls away from the snake and leaps the incoming line to resume his post at the gate. Wolf-headed Anubis reaches down, effortlessly slings the giant snake over his head and across his shoulders. There is a nearly indiscernible flicker, and the snake vanishes. Anubis continues weighing.


	22. Return

Tadfield bookshop, not quite near enough to closing time. The Them are sitting around a table with an old book and their tablets, making notes and conferring on a school project. Aziraphale is in the stacks, assisting one of the customers.

An enormous black wolf appears on the carpet in the center of the shop. Draped from its shoulders is a nude, thin, middle-aged man with short black hair. The man releases his arms from around the animal’s neck and collapses onto his back on the floor as if completely exhausted. The wolf vanishes in almost less time than it took for its appearance to register on bystanders’ retinas. However, it is less easy for human minds to pay fleeting attention to a naked male, especially one who seems to have a somewhat longer penis than the average draped across a thigh. The man groans and tries to rise, falls back.

Aziraphale drops the book he’s about to hand his customer, rushes over to the man, and crouches on his knees beside him. Grasps the man’s shoulders.

_Crowley._

Crowley manages to curl himself up over the angel’s lap.

_We’re closing. Everyone please leave now._

The four teens assume this directive does not apply to them. Instead, they separate and go round like bird dogs, flushing the customers out of the stacks and out the door. Brian fetches the key, locks the door, and turns the sign to “Closed.” They gather around the pair on the floor. Aziraphale has in the meantime magicked his threadbare old cut velvet dressing gown out of the back room and atop Crowley.

_I’m all right. Bit knackered. Transporting with Inpu takes it out of you. Need to rest._

The demon closes his eyes. Aziraphale looks up at the four worried faces.

_He doesn’t seem to be injured. Brian, would you be so kind as to go in the back room and fetch one of the big pillows?_

Brian trots off and back, and they position the pillow next to Crowley. Aziraphale looks up at the four.

_It might be best if you leave now. Thank you all for assisting me to close up the shop._

The teens nod in unison, then go over to their work table and pack up their gear.

_‘Bye Aziraphale. ‘Bye Crowley._

Once they’re outside, Brian re-locks the door, drops the elaborate old key through the slot.

_I think Aziraphale needs to get a more modern lock._

Pepper grimaces as they walk over to where their bikes are parked. 

_Crowley showing up starkers. What next?_

Brian nudges Wensleydale and gestures with his hands as if measuring something.

Wensley glances at Pepper, who has noticed this little exchange, and a spasm of embarrassment twitches across his face. She smiles at her friend.

_Oh Wensley, it’s all right. It was pretty hard to miss. You’re not being stupid._

Brian laughs. Adam interjects:

_We all saw that big black wolf, too, right?_

The other three nod.

_Crowley said something that sounded like, “transporting with in poo.”_

_What’s “transporting?” And what’s “within poo” do you suppose?_

Wensley is up to the task on this one, having enjoyed the history class section on ancient Egypt enough to do some bopping around the internet on his own, learning some pronunciations for hieroglyphics. He makes the connection.

_“Inpu” is what I heard. That’s the ancient Egyptian pronunciation of the god Anubis. He was their god of the dead. He had a head like a black jackal. He would weigh a dead person’s heart against a feather, and if the heart was heavy with evil, the crocodile god would eat that person. _

_Do you suppose that wolf was a jackal? I don’t know what a jackal looks like, actually._

Brian has been tapping away at his tablet.

_You’re right, Wensley. Wikipedia says that Anubis was called Inpu. It says, “Archeologists have identified Anubis's sacred animal as an Egyptian canid, the African golden wolf . . . Anubis was depicted in black, a color that symbolized regeneration, life, the soil of the Nile River, and the discoloration of the corpse after embalming.”_

_Whoa._

Adam breaks the ensuing silence.

_I think we need to ask them tomorrow what Crowley has got up to._

Nods all around. They retrieve their bikes, and ride off in a little pack.

* * *

Aziraphale gently rolls Crowley off his lap and onto his back upon the giant pillow. Lays down alongside, arm across Crowley’s chest, head nestled atop his shoulder. Carefully flares one snowy wing (managing to dislodge only two books from an upper shelf) and folds it atop the sleeping demon.

Just before dawn Crowley awakens. Aziraphale winches in his wing. The two regard one another.

_Whew. Travelling with Inpu is hard on the molecules._

_Are you going to tell me about it, Crowley?_

_Later. Right now I could use a quickie. Kiss me, Angel. Tell me you love me. Touch me._

The angel smiles, and proceeds to do what the demon wishes. Their Divine Ecstasy lasts until morning.

_Feel better, Crowley?_

_Much. Do you know, Aziraphale, I’ve been thinking . . ._

_Oh no. Not that._

Crowley cuffs him.

_And when did you become a smartass, Angel? Tch! Missing Michael’s spankings, are you? Want me to fill in?_

_Maybe. If you’d like to do that._

_No, Aziraphale, I wouldn’t. _

The angel strokes Crowley’s hair.

_Pray continue with what you were going to say._

_It has occurred to me that if we hadn’t had that energizing little session before I left on my trip, it might have taken me a good while longer to recover from that transportation. It was a double, you know. We stopped first in Scotland, where Uriel and Ammun are staying. I asked Uriel for her car keys. I said, “I need to get back to Aziraphale . . .” and with that, Inpu grabbed my hands, put them around his neck, and . . . well, you know the rest. Unhhhhh. I felt like a mashed worm._

_And just why was he transporting you around, anyway? Don’t tell me you went to the gates of Hell._

_We’ll get into that later. Let me finish my thought. It is this. Do you suppose sex between angels has been so strongly discouraged because it empowers us somehow? _

_It does seem to do that. You would think we’d be encouraged to acquire supernatural power. Better to fight the enemy with, and all that tedious rot._

_My memories are fried, but wasn’t there something between Lucifer and Beelzebub back in the day?_

_Oh lord. They were lovers. At least, that is the legend. Just whispered, you know._

A heavy silence lasts for several minutes.

Aziraphale recalls how the consecrated ground in St. Cecil’s and All Angels felt hot to him. Oh lord.

_I’m not giving you up, Crowley._

The two grab one another and kiss passionately.


	23. Honeymoon

A remote cottage in northern Scotland. The low building is alone on a hillside save for the older Mercedes parked out front. Nothing within sight but black stony outcrops, grazed meadow, and a path that winds over the hilltop and down to a sandy beach at the base of a far cliff. The weather is foul – gloomy, windy, rainy, cold. White waves roll and crash along the distant beach.

Inside is a much cozier scene, with logs burning in the fireplace and lighted candles in a couple of old iron lantern candleholders. Uriel and Ammun are snuggled under a quilt in the bed, side by side as they each sip a glass of whiskey. They have spent the week hiking and exploring the landscape outside the cottage, and exploring Divine Ecstasy inside.

_Our last night here. If we get an early start, we can reach Tadfield tomorrow. _

_A long drive. But Adam messaged me that Crowley thinks it wouldn’t be wise to stop in Edinburgh without him and Aziraphale around. _

Ammun laughs.

_That pair of wankers? _

_Don’t say that, Ammun. I think we have seriously underestimated the two of them through the centuries. Just because they got stuck off in Londinium while we continued to have work around the Mediterranean doesn’t mean they’re not formidable. They both seem to have out-maneuvered Head Office and Basement from the get-go. And of course there was their subversion of Armageddon. For which they also managed to escape punishment. _

_Were they lovers all this time?_

_Apparently not. Crowley may be a swine, but he did say something once that I’ve not forgotten. It made me feel terribly sad. I’ve remembered every word: “It took Aziraphale and me 6000 years and Armageddon before we could finally admit we were attracted to each other. Piece of advice: don’t make that mistake.”_

Ammun goes stiff and silent, and stares off into the distance. His glass falls to the stone floor, spilling whiskey from the pieces of shattered crystal.

_Ammun! What is it? Did I say something bad?_

Ammun numbly shakes his head, but does not speak. The pair sit silently for quite some time. Uriel contemplates that she had not really gotten acquainted with Ammun until the 14th century, and wonders what happened in the millennia before that. He had been a god in North Africa back in the early B.C., while she had been assigned to interior and south Africa. Not until Mansa Musa had made his Hajj was she afforded the chance to visit the Mediterranean, and that is when she first found herself attracted to the handsome and bold Ammun.

And then, as if on cue in a pantomime where the demon king suddenly pops out of the spring lift in the stage floor, an apparition blinks into existence in the middle of the room: the Egyptian god Anubis, dressed in full kit with the head of a black wolf, an enormous serpent draped across his shoulders. The wolf’s ears brush the rafters of the low ceiling. The snake glides to the floor, then rises up and transforms into a nude Crowley. He staggers a bit, steadies himself with an arm on Anubis’s shoulder. 

_Uriel. Give me your car key. I need get back to Aziraphale . . ._

The words are barely out of Crowley’s mouth when the apparition seems to flicker, and he vanishes. Anubis is still present. He stands and regards the pair in the bed, his wolf head becoming a shadowy helmet around his beautiful dark human face, although his eyes remain the canine’s deep amber gold.

Ammun flings off the quilt, rockets across the room, falls to his knees and clutches Anubis around his hips and waist, fingers embedded deep enough to cause bruises were the jinni’s body human. Anubis’s impassive eyes meet Uriel’s, and then he looks downward. Runs his fingers through Ammun’s thick hair and caresses him. Placing both hands on Ammun’s shoulders, he stoops and raises the angel into a standing position. One hand slides into the angel’s hair, the other across his shoulder. He pulls Ammun’s face up toward him and kisses him, deeply. His apparel and jewelry vanish. A tall ebony man with fathomless black eyes, now closed, in ecstatic embrace with Ammun.

Not taking her eyes off the pair, Uriel gets out of bed, gathers up her clothing, dresses quietly while edging around the room toward the door. Exits and runs off into the gloom along the long twisting path up over the hilltop and down toward the distant beach.


	24. Temptation Accomplished

Anubis and Ammun break apart and regard Uriel as she enters the cottage, returning from her hours-long walk. Anubis resumes full Egyptian god kit, extends his arms and bows to her. She raises her chin and stares at him.

_I can’t extend my wings. There isn’t enough room here._

The jinni nods, and becomes a tall ebony man with a shadowy wolf helmet and golden eyes. He says something in an ancient language Uriel does not understand. Ammun translates.

_He asks if you will share._

Anubis has cocked his head slightly as he continues his unblinking gaze at Uriel. Ammun snaps his fingers, and Uriel’s clothing lies in a heap in a corner. Anubis caresses her with his eyes. Ammun comes up behind. She feels his beard on her shoulder, his chest hair against her back as his hands reach around and gently stroke her breasts.

_Touch him._

Uriel’s head doesn’t even reach to the tall jinni’s shoulders. She reaches out a tentative hand and touches a pectoral muscle. His skin is soothingly hot, soft as satin. He is so beautiful. Ammun’s hands drop to her hips and he steps back as the jinn embraces her and holds her tightly against his slim muscular body. Uriel gasps and goes immediately into Divine Ecstasy.

An interesting night ensues.

* * *

Uriel and Ammun drive along quietly and companionably until they’re on the M74 south of Glasgow. Uriel has been thinking hard about some things.

_Crowley set us up. _

_Do you mean, he planned this little get together between you, Anubis, and me? I don’t see how he could possibly have foreseen that._

_Ammun, I keep telling you, you don’t give Crowley and Aziraphale enough credit. Crowley was the original Tempter in the Garden of Eden, you surely remember that. And he’s had 6 millennia to hone his skills. Think how provoking he was at the bookshop. _

She hasn’t forgotten: _“So, Uriel. Are you two little rebels going to take a lesson from Angel and me and get it on?”_

Ammun has very different memories of Crowley from their B.C. years of kicking around North Africa, Egypt, the lands of the eastern Mediterranean and the Fertile Crescent. It wasn’t until about the time of the fall of the western Roman Empire that he and his cohort had mostly driven out Beelzebul, pagan temples becoming ruins, believers turning to new religions and building churches and mosques. He had witnessed Crowley’s activities up close. The only thing the demon seemed to stick at was harming children. And once Beelzebul discovered that Crowley would not obey orders if children were involved, his punishments for disobedience were frightful. Ammun had happened to be present at one such ghastly “ceremony,” where Beelzebul had actually discorporated Crowley. He suspected it wasn’t the first or the only time; that Beelzebul gave Crowley orders he knew would be disobeyed, just for the pleasure of tormenting him afterward. Vile, hateful creatures, demons.

_Ammun, who showed up draped over Anubis’s shoulders?_

_Crowley._

_Think about that._

Ammun thinks about how, while he longed desperately to be lovers with Anubis – had fallen for the jinni at first sight, right after Creation - he had suppressed his desire as an unseemly impediment to his angelic duties. After all, Anubis was a cohort of Hell. Death was practically his cousin. The animals he was modeled upon were notorious for regarding graveyards as a handy source of human jerky. Meanwhile Crowley and Anubis hung out like a pair of bros. Had the demon noticed his attraction to Anubis? The only possible conclusion was, _“Yes.” _Crowley had tempted him, and he had fallen. And was he sorry about that? _No. _Not even a little bit. He feels like a fool, actually, for having waited so damned long.

* * *

Around about Birmingham, a call comes in on Uriel’s watch. She puts it on the car speakerphone. It’s Adam.

_Hi, Uriel. Crowley asked me to tell you he has a farmhouse that you can stay in if you’d like. It would help him out. The old couple that were its owners have taken some of their belongings with them to their new home. But the place still needs to have the movers and cleaners supervised and someone to look after it. He wants to know if you’d be willing. _

Uriel gives Ammun a significant look.

_Adam, tell Crowley that I and my companion Ammun would be happy to assist Crowley. It would help us out, too. We were going to seek a place to stay in Tadfield._

And so Ammun, Uriel, and their large black wolf dog settled in to Farmer Croll’s cottage.


	25. Boris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to hear Crowley's voice singing in this one.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tswuvIIi4SA

Crowley answers his phone.

_Young Master. What’s up?_

_Crowley, can you drive Georgia to her riding lesson today? Janet needs the car._

There is a long pause while Crowley considers that 1) he’s not a damned taxi service; and 2) Adam doesn’t ask for anything unless there’s something else going on under the surface.

_Sure. When and where?_

_It’s in the Cotswolds. She says if you leave in about half an hour you’ll get there in plenty of time._

_Half an hour it is. You’ll tell her?_

_Yes. Thank you, Crowley._

_No worries._

They disconnect. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck._

_Crowley, what’s the matter?_

_That was Adam. Wants me to chauffer Georgia to her riding lesson in the Cotswolds. Apparently Janet needs their damned car today. I leave in half an hour. So, no more Divine Ecstasy this morning, Angel._

_Bit of smooching, perhaps?_

_Now that’s all right . . . _

* * *

As they exit Tadfield, Crowley turns to Georgia.

_All right, let’s have it, why have I been dragooned into chauffer duty this morning?_

_Pepper has been upset. Says that you called her a witch._

_Well, she is. You’d think you’d be happy about that._

_You can’t be serious, Crowley. Witchcraft isn’t real, I don’t care what Anathema pretends._

Crowley turns and gives Georgia the hairy eyeball.

_Watch the road, Crowley! And slow down._

Crowley, of course, does neither.

_I’m a fucking demon, Georgia. A devil. If I say she’s a witch, I’m in a professional position to know._

Georgia forces herself to relax and stares straight ahead, as if to encourage Crowley to do likewise.

_She says you taunted her about “bad boys.”_

_I did indeed warn her. Demons can be very seductive. _

As he says this, Crowley morphs into a beautiful teenage male. Smiles snakily at Georgia. Despite herself, she’s impressed. A definite hormone stirrer.

_Well. Yes. And being attracted to handsome young men is a problem exactly how? It’s not exactly abnormal._

_We demons aren’t in it just for fun. Corrupting souls to join our Satanic Master in damnation - perhaps you recall? Spoiling the Almighty’s creation? Witches have a congenital weakness for our sort. Rebels. Exciting sinners. Those tales and legends aren’t total bilge, not by a long shot. You want Pepper prancing around naked in the moonlight with a randy goat, just keep her ignorant._

Crowley has morphed back into his middle-aged self.

_Crowley, I hope you’re not trying to tell me you find Pepper attractive. Because I would probably feel obliged to get my service pistol out of storage and kill you._

_Nah. No worries there. I have an angel to keep me in line. Just trying to give you a heads up. London seems to be crawling with young demons these days. Not sure why. Not sure what’s going on. I’ve mentioned it to Adam. And just for the record, you can discorporate me. But I’m immortal. I’ll be back sooner or later in some form or another. So don’t go oiling up your handgun._

_Crowley, if you can be young and beautiful, why do you go around looking like a man in his forties?_

_Helps blend in with humans. Youth and beauty attract attention. If you’re middle-aged, you’re pretty much invisible. Eyeballs slide right off with nary a second glance. Forgettable._

George recollects Crowley’s tango performance, looks at the colorful kilt he’s wearing.

_Oh yes. Forgettable. Entirely._

_If we want to be. Aziraphale doesn’t give a second’s thought to being middle-aged. He just unconsciously prefers to be approachable. The kindly uncle._

_Whereas you. . ._

_I do what amuses him. _

* * *

Georgia has joined her group for their lesson, and they ride off, leaving Crowley behind.

He wanders about the yard, climbs up onto a rail fence alongside a large field and sits perched like a glum gargoyle. Then he remembers the flask in his pocket, pulls it out, unscrews the cap, and takes a long swig. Some minutes later an old black Irish draught stallion in the distance raises his head and nickers. Starts across the grassy field towards Crowley. The demon notices that the horse has a limp, its left knee looks swollen. Soon he finds himself eyeball to eyeball with a long black head almost the same size as his upper body. The horse exhales a warm grassy cloud. Crowley gives the animal’s nose a knuckle bump, breathes an alcoholic cloud back into the big nostrils.

_Back atcha, horse. You are exactly the type that Hell used to assign me to ride back in the day. Gonna bite me?_

A large muzzle nudges Crowley’s chest, but fortunately he’s hooked his feet around a lower railing and isn’t pushed over backwards. Takes another sip from his flask. The horse turns its nose in the direction of the demon’s hand.

_Sure, horse. Why the fuck not. _

Crowley slips a finger into the side of the horse’s mouth, into the gap in his teeth, touches the tongue. The animal opens his mouth. Crowley pours a splash of whiskey into a large cuplike lower lip. Oddly, the horse does not start at the burning liquid, but smacks its giant rubbery lips and tongue and swallows. Shakes his head and mane. Then, with surprising speed and accuracy, the horse clamps its teeth around the neck of the flask and tilts his head upward. Empties the flask and drops it onto the grass. Crowley laughs, magics the flask back up into his hand and refills it. Takes another drink himself, then taps the horse’s lower lip, which obligingly opens and extends for another drink. 

They companionably go through a couple of refills. Then the horse moves his hindquarters around until the big animal is pressing Crowley’s legs against the fence. Without thinking, Crowley swings a leg over and finds himself astride a large back. The animal steps away and proceeds to walk around the perimeter of the field. Crowley starts out holding a fistful of mane, but then relaxes and rides along with both hands atop his thighs. He figures he’ll be pitched off into the grass and mud soon enough, no sense in trying to hold on. At least there aren’t any rocks or cactus, or a saddle horn or stirrups conveniently ready to add to the injury. He wonders if this horse will make that extra little bit of effort to step on him when he’s down. The old horse has a comfortable seat - withers are well muscled and high enough to keep a rider from sliding onto a fence rail of a neck. Much easier on the privates. And fortunately the kilt draped in all the right places, so he and the horse are only somewhat mutually bareback. Crowley takes a final swig and puts the flask back into his pocket. Inspired by the whiskey and the timing of the hoof beats, he starts to sing John Barleycorn, a song young Warlock loved. The horse’s ears stay pricked backward as he plods limping along. The human atop him is surprisingly warm, like a hot water bottle. And he likes the noises he’s making.

Far across the yard, at the back of the line of novice riders just entering the trail through the wood, Alexis glances back at the field . . .

_Oh no! Leslie! Take charge!_

Pivoting her horse, she canters back to the field gate, does a vaulting emergency dismount. Watches in dismay as the old stallion and singing Crowley circle the field.

Georgia has also left the group and trots up, staggers slightly as she somewhat awkwardly dismounts. 

_Is the horse dangerous?_

_Oh no. Boris is a good horse. But he’s a stallion. Trouble is, he’s old now and has an arthritic knee. It’s making him crotchety. Had a tantrum the other day during exercise, very nearly threw me. And one of our grooms is mincing around now with bandaged ribs after Boris landed a kick yesterday. Told her to take the week off, but she won’t do it. Loves horses. _

Georgia can only think of, but does not voice, Crowley’s comment, _“Horses hate me. And I hate them right back. Some serious design flaws in that animal.”_

_They seem to be getting on well enough._

Alexis reconsiders opening the gate and riding to Crowley’s rescue. He seems perfectly at ease, obviously knows how to ride. And Boris is moving calmly. Maybe best just to wait and see what happens.

Across the field, Crowley finishes the song, leans back slightly.

_Whoa._

Boris stops. Crowley slings a leg over the horse’s neck, slides off, and stands for some minutes with one hand upon the horse’s withers, his heated body pressed against the giant barrel of an animal. Strokes the horse’s neck. Crowley’s caresses aren’t tentative, and Boris seems to like the feel of the demon’s firm warm hand. 

Crowley has been thinking. The old horse did him a solid, not biting him or pitching him off and kicking him. Maybe he could heal that knee. Did a couple of healings for Aziraphale back when they had their Arrangement. Hated it. Was always sick for days afterward. Well, what the Hell. He’ll get over it.

Keeping himself pressed against the horse, with infinite patience, he very, very gradually bends as he moves his hand down Boris’s shoulder and left foreleg until it is resting like a feather upon the horse’s swollen knee. Boris has turned his head and is paying keen attention, his muzzle inches from Crowley’s hand, but he stays still and doesn’t bite. Crowley makes a slight gesture, and the swelling disappears. He continues to move his hand down the horse’s leg, checking the pastern to make sure there’s no lameness there. The old horse raises his leg, but Crowley has stepped swiftly backwards to avoid what he thinks is an oncoming kick from a hoof the size of a saucer. Boris doesn’t kick, however. Tentatively paws the ground. Puts his foot straight back down, shifts some weight onto it. Turns his head and rubs his nose against his knee. No pain.

Crowley, in the meantime, has turned his back and stepped away, leaning over with his hands on his knees, and is retching violently. Angels don’t vomit, but Crowley is gagging fit to toss up a sock. He falls on all fours to the wet grass, then collapses onto his stomach when the worst of the bout ends. 

_Did Boris kick him? _

_No! He was pawing. He didn’t kick. _

Boris takes a step over to Crowley, nudges him as a mare might nudge a foal to stand. Crowley rolls over onto his back. Boris nudges him again. Crowley groans, gets to his feet and stands as if he’s considering falling over again. Boris swings his head around and gooses Crowley’s backside. Putting both hands upon Boris’s high back, Crowley crouches, then jumps up so he’s draped over the horse . But instead of swinging a leg around around so he’s facing forward, he does the opposite and faces backward, flopping onto his stomach atop the giant back, face lying sideways against the hairy hide, hands over Boris’s hindquarters. Boris continues his slow walk around the field, stops at the gate. Crowley slides down the off side, staggering to keep himself upright. Strokes the stallion’s big cheek, pats his neck beneath his mane, then drapes himself against the gate and retches. Boris looks at the two women, gives a snort, nuzzles Crowley’s neck, gives him one last push in the back, turns and walks off. Halfway across the field he breaks into a trot, then a canter, then kicks up his heels in a delighted buck before settling down to graze a bit.

Once Boris is safely in mid-field, Alexis and Georgia open the gate and help Crowley through.

_Mr. Crowley, are you hurt?_

_No. _(He turns to Georgia.) _ I need to get back to Aziraphale._

_Here, lean on me until we get to the car._

_No. ‘M all right. _(Retches violently.) _Just nauseous._

_Is he drunk?_

Crowley snarls a _“No!”_

_Alexis, we need to go right away. I’ll call you as soon as I can._

Georgia stays close to Crowley until they’re back in the Bentley.

_Crowley, are you able to drive? You reek of whiskey._

_Of course. _(Retches and starts the car.)

Only once does he pull over, fling himself onto the berm, and dry heaves until he collapses. Georgia has also vaulted from the vehicle, helps him back into the driver’s seat. She calls Aziraphale and tells him Crowley is ill, they’re on their way to the bookshop. They finally pull up and park. This time Crowley doesn’t refuse Georgia’s assistance in walking to the door. Mercifully, Aziraphale has closed the shop, so Crowley is spared the humiliation of appearing to arrive dead drunk in front of the customers. The angel is waiting at the door. As he opens it, Georgia half carries Crowley inside to where he sinks facedown onto the carpet. Aziraphale has been following close, and crouches over Crowley.

_Did a healing. Can’t stop vomiting. Demons aren’t supposed to do shit like that. Unggggghhkkkk . . . _

_Roll over._

Aziraphale presses a hand upon the demon’s stomach, leans over him and lightly caresses his forehead and cheek. A soft puff of breath. A light kiss to the forehead. And Crowley’s nausea vanishes.

_Thanks, Angel. Could have been a rough couple of days. _

_Whom did you heal, Crowley, if I may ask?_

_A horse._

_A _horse_?_

_Had a bad knee. The only horse that’s ever treated me decently. Seemed like the least I could do._

He closes his eyes.

_I think I’ll sleep now, if you don’t mind._

Aziraphale continues to stroke Crowley’ hair, his other hand still upon the demon’s stomach. Georgia is riveted by the change in Crowley’s face as he relaxes into sleep. It is a much younger face, with a wistful, childlike quality. Aziraphale is rapt, and does not look up at her. Feeling as if she’s intruding on an intimate moment, she quietly turns and makes her way to the door. Aziraphale absentmindedly raises a hand to re-lock the door after she passes through it. Once outside, Georgia cannot get Crowley’s sad and innocent face from her mind. How could a creature with a face like that be damned for all eternity?

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tswuvIIi4SA>


	26. Consigliere Beelzebub

The chamber of the Dark Council, Pandemonium, Hell. The room is empty and echoing save for Lucifer on his throne, and Beelzebub, on the dais below. Lucifer has chosen to appear as the beautiful male angel he was before the Fall; however, when he appears in this guise, he is fettered to his throne. Beelzebub is also in his former shape, a beautiful young man. He is seated frozen upon a rock pedestal, from which he cannot move closer to the throne. Lovers who can only contemplate and speak to one another but can no longer embrace, or even touch, this is the most severe of all the Almighty’s punishments. Their longing and agony ripples the dark air between them.

_Beloved._

_Lord._

They gaze at one another for a very long time. Finally Lucifer speaks in a low tone, as if it’s difficult for him to get the words out.

_The little snake demon and the Principality have become lovers?_

_Lord, the disposable demons I have deployed throughout London and surrounding Tadfield have reported multiple times of a rumor that humans witnessed them openly engaged in physical love._

Beelzebub cannot help writhing in jealousy at the very thought.

_Lord, they walk the streets of London hand in hand. Our demons have witnessed this many times._

_How has the little snake managed to seduce an angel?_

_Lord, discovering the answer to that is now my most urgent task. _

The unspoken thought shared between the two is, _“If they can do it, perhaps we can follow the same path._”

_Do Michael and Gabriel know of this?_

_Lord, they have not deployed the resources that I have. My backchannel contacts report they are aware the two are living together, but only suspect they are partaking of Divine Bliss._

_Not to mention the snake demon seems to have assisted my son in embarrassing Gabriel with a prank. _

A flicker of a grim smile flits across Lucifer’s satanic face.

_Yes, Lord. Counting coup upon Gabriel was a nice insult. One result I foresee from that incident is that Gabriel will stoop to attack Demon Crowley. He will attempt this through the Principality Aziraphale. _

_Despite the Almighty’s directive to the heavenly host to not interfere with the demon and angel?_

_Lord, you know how arrogant Gabriel is. Michael will be only too pleased to let him disgrace himself._

Lucifer can no longer bear to gaze upon Beelzebub, and stares downward in anguish.

_Beloved. You must succeed. And protect my son._

_Lord. I will not fail you._

_You may go._

Lucifer vanishes, to resume his titanic lava-skinned form in the 9th Pit. Beelzebub flees the room in a fury of jealousy and hatred. As she flies through the chasms and corridors back to her office, a roiling fiery gas explosion cloud precedes her. Hearing the oncoming roar, demons drop what they’re doing, scatter and flee. The Damned who have been through prior episodes of Beelzebub’s rage likewise flee or seek cover. Newbie Damned who don’t move quickly enough are flattened and roasted into sticky black lumps as she passes. Disposable demons get out their carts, pitchforks, and shovels to follow along and do cleanup. They deposit the charred remains into the Resurrection Ward, where the souls will gradually recover their forms until their assigned torments can be resumed. The demons in charge of such souls like when this happens, and gather daily in the R Ward to gamble in various ancient board and dice games, the moans of the burnt damned providing a pleasing background music. It’s about as much of a vacation as they ever get.

* * *

Crowley. Crawly. Beelzebub sits at her now smoking ebony desk and mentally totes up memories of that annoying twerp.

How she and Lucifer had fished the limp little burnt seraph out of the lake of fire. His six wings were gone, his beautiful plumage now reduced to black scales. He could only move by crawling on his stomach. Crawly. Lucifer had allowed him to coil around his leg while he summoned the Fallen and built Pandemonium. And when Lucifer had discovered the existence of Earth and the Garden of Eden, little Crawly had been dispatched to slip through the angelic defenses and try to despoil the Almighty’s latest creation. And how he had succeeded! 

She had rewarded him by creating him a celestial body. How he loved it! The body had also proved useful for disciplinary purposes, offering more possibilities than merely kicking a snake around. Crawly maintained a serpent’s elusiveness, however. While she worked to corrupt Humankind, despoil Earth, and prepare Hell’s legions for Armageddon, he got up to who knows what. She should have realized something was amiss when he finagled that assignment to shadow the Principality Aziraphale in Londinium, but it was an unimportant outpost at the time and he was an unimportant minion. She tolerated his little reports of what seemed like games he was playing with the humans, but that was about all the attention that was paid.

And then the two treacherous little bastards had somehow managed to derail Armageddon. 

She thought back upon how Crowley, alone of all the demons in Hell, never appeared to suffer any deformity or disease when he was actually present in Hell. Everyone else was afflicted with some sort of crawling, slimy, or chitinous monstrosity and ugly chancres. She had assumed he wasn’t deformed because he was already a snake right from the initial outcome of the Fall, whereas everyone else was deprived of their celestial beauty as punishment for despoiling Eden and causing the downfall of the first humans, Adam and Eve. But Crowley merely looked somewhat shabby and dusty from all the ash that floated constantly around the corridors of Hell.

How the lazy little bastard had enjoyed loitering around the Hell Gate as a serpent coiled next to Anubis on a nearby rock. While he was small compared to Lucifer and herself, to the incoming Damned he looked enormous. He would sit for days with Cerberus and Anubis. Anubis the jinni. An Egyptian god. The only early god who wasn’t a demon or an angel. A mysterious being that, like Death, was beyond her control. Crowley was at the Gate only recently. She had guards posted at all the known gateways to Hell, but Crowley had somehow discovered an unguarded passageway. Perhaps one only a snake could traverse? Why had he come? By the time a disposable demon had reported to her, he was gone.

And, of course, the Holy Water incident. That had been an epic disturbance. Nearly caused a riot. Had Crowley not disintegrated Ligur with Holy Water, doubtful Hastur would have thought to suggest it as a punishment for the Armageddon treason. And then look what happened to Hastur when he tried to exact revenge upon Crowley. The little snake had twice managed to discorporate Hastur, a Duke of Hell, and led him to go rogue and jeopardize Lucifer’s son, Adam the Antichrist.

Should she allow Gabriel to attack Aziraphale? There is no doubt in her mind that the vain prick is going to attempt something like that. Could it be turned to Hell’s advantage? Might Gabriel’s quest for vengeance result in disgrace similar to Hastur’s? Would he soon be emptying wastebaskets and mopping floors with Sandalphon? Now there is an enchanting possibility!

She hates Crowley from jealousy and despair, and would ordinarily love to destroy Aziraphale herself, just for the sheer pleasure of the cruelty and ruination of someone else’s happiness. But she lives to please Lucifer, so tolerate Crowley she must and will. 

What is Crowley, really?

Beelzebub sits and thinks . . . and thinks.

* * *

Posted with permission of the artist, https://thanos45.tumblr.com/image/49448484755

Based upon statue by Joseph Geefs, L'Ange du Mal


	27. Networks of Greed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this is the glass hydraulic model of money in Terry Pratchett's _Making Money_.  
A model so accurate, it affects reality.

Inside Triple S Security, in a nondescript London suburb.

Evgeny, Bohdan, and Crowley are in Bohdan’s laboratory. The room is chilly and climate-controlled, with an airlock entry to minimize airborne contamination. Evgeny drew the line at bunny suits, and so only certain areas of the lab are glassed in and require clean suits. The three are seated in the exquisitely ergonomic chairs surrounding Bohdan’s immaculate desk, facing a large monitor displaying a curious network overlaying the northern half of Eurasia.

_Go through it, Crowley._

Evgeny rises from his chair and hugs Bohdan’s head against his chest to prevent him from inadvertently turning to watch, in case Crowley gets snaky and triggers Bohdan’s phobia. The demon positions himself next to a power cable entering the server bank connected to the monitor, morphs into a serpentine stream of blackness as he slips into the cable. Within a second a stream of red flows from one end of the network to the other, like blood filling capillaries. Crowley pops back out of the power cable, now appearing in demonic form: snake eyes glowing a hot golden orange; pterosaur wings for arms, jutting like blades past his elbows as he folds them in; giant amber claws instead of fingers. And a startling erection, of a proportion that gives him the overall look of a giant masturbating fruit bat.

Evgeny watches impassively as the demon struggles for self-control, managing to morph back into a slim human with a merely impressive erection. Evgeny has never seen Crowley excited before, and as the demon hobbles off to the stainless steel shower stall in a far corner of the room, a slight smile flickers across his face as he considers that the demon’s lover might not be such a poofter after all if he can handle that. Crowley adjusts the various shower jets to suit him, and sits for the next 20 minutes in blissful streams of icy water, which gradually cease hissing into steam as they hit his skin. Exiting the shower, he magics the water away and his clothing back on.

Crowley flops himself back into his chair, and Bohdan hands him a techy vaporizer from a neat and tidy sort of small bar adjacent to his workstation.

_Here. Your special blend._

Crowley’s blend of herb would knock the average human into a couch slug in short order, but celestial bodies have a tolerance for cannabis similar to alcohol. It takes a fair amount for any effect to register.

_Whooooo-eeeeee. What a model of greed, gluttony, lust, power . . ._

_Could you feel the strategic nodes?_

_Yes, somewhat. You’re getting there, I think. Gazprom is starting to look a tiny bit wobbly._

Bohdan smiles shyly. He is pleased at Crowley’s reaction to his network model, he feels the same way about it. Better than sex. 

The model traces the flow of money through the top fossil fuel companies, state economies, and relevant individuals. It’s taken years of research and development. And money. Bohdan and Evgeny have their own dark network of hackers, pirates, shady financiers, corporate informants, outright criminals, and desperate lowlifes that provide them with the tidbits of information Bohdan requires to weave his model web. Evgeny makes sure nobody gets uppity or squeals. Ever. He and Beelzebub would get on famously.

_China and Southeast Asia starting to shape up?_

Bohdan makes a few finger movements and clicks, and the display shows another network.

_Yes._

_Africa?_

Evgeny replies:

_Oh yes. The corruption there . . . network almost makes itself. Somebody always talks._

Bohdan fingers the commands for another map, this time of the Western hemisphere. A far denser network appears, especially for the United States.

_We used this one for the Panama test._

The three silently contemplate the map, musing over how that experiment went off without a single hitch. This is in itself disturbing, as it is such an unlikely outcome. Something had to have gone wrong somewhere, that is always the way – otherwise debugging and tests would not be needed. But so far no adverse consequences have surfaced. And they are nearly a billion dollars richer. Which moves Triple S a bit past Jeff Bezos, had anyone known how to follow the money through a completely different network that launders the plunder into investment opportunities pulled from the list in _Drawdown. _

“Intense” doesn’t begin to describe this little trinity’s efforts as they struggle to overcome the multitude of choke points in their hidden siphoning of funds out of accounts and into investments. Crowley likes Earth, and doesn’t want to stand idly by while humanity makes another pass at Armageddon. Three of the Horsemen are still out there, and Death has of course never left. Crowley is the catalyst between the humans and the algorithms. And he almost never sleeps, which helps greatly. 

Crowley is also their most vulnerable asset. While Bohdan seldom leaves the building, thus providing Evgeny some assurance of his lover’s safety, Aziraphale is more or less out in the open. Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s little dinner expeditions exasperate Evgeny, as he is not so sanguine as Crowley that Aziraphale can take care of himself. Crowley has been careful to never so much as mention the existence of Adam Young to him. He has related, however, the supernatural threats to Aziraphale’s existence, which only makes Evgeny more uneasy, because has no clue how to counteract that type of threat.

And then an incident occurs that gives him a chance to find out.


	28. Inconvenient Discorporation

A pub in Mayfair. It’s an early weekday evening, and there isn’t much of a crowd yet. Aziraphale and Crowley are seated in a snug banquette. They’ve finished their steak and chips. Crowley is working his way through a whiskey while Aziraphale enjoys a sticky toffee pudding.

What appears to be a small, dirty teen in a hoodie scoots through the doors and makes a beeline for the pair.

_Demon Crowley! Two angels are coming!_

_Sit down._

Crowley gestures to the seat next to Aziraphale. The grubby teen sits anxiously, hands clutched between knees. The three watch in silence as a pair of women enter the pub, look around, spot Crowley and Aziraphale. They hold hands as they approach and stand by the banquette. One is taller than the other and a bit stout, the other petite and slim. Both have light caramel skin, black shoulder-length gently waved hair, and a vaguely Silk Road look. They’re each dressed in tailored cream linen suits with lace jabots and cuffs. One wears a long strand of pearls and gold bangles, the other just the reverse – gold rope chain and three-strand pearl bracelet. Stylish but sensible low-heeled boots in a golden leather. 

After a brief sneer of unmistakable disgust towards Crowley and then the sooty teen, the tall one addresses Aziraphale.

_Principality Aziraphale. This consorting with foul fiends must cease. We have been sent to bring you back to the Head Office. You must come with us. _

_Come with you? So Gabriel can make another attempt at extinguishing me? You must think I’m insane! I have no intention of reporting to Head Office ever again._

Crowley in the meantime has risen from his seat and stepped outside the banquette. As he slips behind the angelic pair, he gestures as if inviting them to be seated.

_Please, sit down._

Surprised by this unexpected offer, the pair look at one another as Crowley moves behind them. He crosses his arms inside his jacket, pulls out a pair of small .22 revolvers and shoots each angel just behind the ear. They collapse and vanish in a pixelated cloud. Crowley vanishes the guns and their mesh shoulder holster back into storage, stoops and picks up two small pieces of lead. Some of the humans in the pub hear the popping noises and look around to see what disturbance may have just occurred; however, the bodies and weapons have disappeared so quickly they don’t notice anything amiss. Crackers, maybe? They shrug off the incident and resume their drinking, chatting, and eating. The disappearance of two striking women has not even registered. Maybe they went to the loo.

_Lovely, clever humans, inventing guns. _

Aziraphale and the teen are aghast. Crowley inclines his head toward the door.

_We need to go. Now._

As the teen rises from the banquette, Crowley grabs a handful of hoodie.

_You’re coming with us._

Crowley gestures to the bartender to put the bill on their tab. The three exit the pub and walk half a block to where the Bentley is parked in what would normally be a double-striped no-parking zone, but the yellow stripes have mysteriously rolled up. He pushes the teen into the back.

_Get down on the floor and stay down._

The teen curls into a fetal position on the floor, arms around head. Crowley gets out his phone and makes a short call.

_We’re fine. All clear. Heading to Tadfield now._

The demon stows his phone and grins as he starts the car, quite pleased with himself.

_Did you like that? I learned it from watching Lefty Two Guns in the movie _Donnie Brasco. _Neat, eh? No messy blood spatters._

_Crowley, you just murdered two angels!_

_Inconveniently discorporated. Who are they, anyway? Did you recognize them?_

_I believe they’re known as The Twins. They’re Thrones. Angelic enforcers. I’ve never really had anything to do with them, not even as passing acquaintances. _

_Well then. Would you rather I had let them kidnap you?_

_No. No, of course not. I just . . . I just . . . perhaps I simply forget sometimes that you’re a demon._

_That I have skill sets you lack?_

_You could put it that way. A different approach to things, shall we say. Your two little guns definitely leant weight to my moral argument._

Crowley leans over, extends an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, pulls him closer, and plants a kiss on the angel’s cheek.

_Watch the road, Crowley._

Aziraphale slouches companionably against Crowley, hand stroking the demon’s thigh.

_Watch yourself, Angel, if you don’t want me distracted._

* * *

The Bentley pulls up and parks alongside the bookshop in Tadfield, and the three enter the closed and empty shop.

_Now then._

Crowley pulls down the teen’s hoodie, to reveal a freckled girl’s face below a mop of kinky sandy hair that is curiously twisted into two hornlike points.

_Aziraphale, meet a Disposable Demon._

The teen gazes up at Aziraphale with wide, wary grey eyes.

_I’ve never met angels up close before. Are you going to torment me?_

_Good gracious no, child! We don’t do things like that here. There is no need to be frightened. Would you like a cup of hot cocoa?_

_Cocoa? What’s that?_

_They don’t eat or drink, Aziraphale._

_Yes we do. But the food in Hell is terrible so we mostly leave it._

_How did you come to be watching us?_

_Lord Beelzebub has posted us throughout London to keep an eye on you._

_And now you must report back?_

There is a pause as the teen takes on a shifty expression.

_I don’t want to. This is my first trip to Earth! I don’t want to go back! Can’t I stay with you, your Disgrace? You’re a demon, too. It’s not like I’d be running away. I’d still be following orders and watching you._

And then Aziraphale earns the little demon’s undying loyalty.

_Thank you for warning us about those two angels. You did very well. Why don’t I make you a cup of cocoa? I do think you’d like it once you’ve tried it. It’s quite nice._

_You said “thank you?” To _me_?_

Aziraphale looks at the teen in bewilderment.

_They do the scut work in Hell, Angel. No one ever thanks them. Be like thanking the mop. That bastard Hastur used to enjoy discorporating them by the half dozen whenever he felt temperamental. They’re disposable. They recycle. Clones, y’know? Legion._

_My word. I had no idea. Where could she stay, Crowley?_

_Madame Tracy?_

Shadwell had some weeks prior suffered a stroke and passed away the same day. Madame Tracy was now struggling through the resulting loneliness and sadness. She had hoped she and Shadwell could have been companions for decades.

A short phone call, a ride in the Bentley, and an angel and two demons stand inside Madame Tracy’s little cottage.

_Thank you so much, Madame Tracy, for letting . . . um . . . my niece DeeDee here lodge with you tonight. We really could not put her up at the bookstore, of course, and she’s too young to stick into the hotel._

_Quite all right, Mr. Fell. I am happy to have some company. Would you like a glass of milk and a slice of pie, my dear? Come with me into the kitchen. And then perhaps you’d like a nice shower. I have some spare pajamas and a robe you can wear, although they might be a tad big on you. We can launder your clothes tomorrow morning._

_Do you have cocoa?_

_Why yes, my dear. What an excellent idea. I can make us both a cup, and I have cream and marshmallows._

Crowley and Aziraphale look at one another. Success. 

_We’ll be off then, Madame Tracy. See you tomorrow morning at your tea shop?_

Crowley gives the little demon a stern look.

_No tricks._

_No, your Disgrace!_

_We’ll talk tomorrow about whether you can stay._

* * *

_You’ll have to spend the night on the couch, I’m afraid, my dear. My partner recently passed away, you see. I haven’t yet changed the other bedroom. I hope these pillows and duvet will be comfortable for you. The heat turns down at night, and it gets a bit chill._

The little demon nods and sits on the couch.

_I’ll be off to sleep myself now, dear. I must rise early in the morning to do shop preparations. Good night._

Demons don’t sleep. Once Madame Tracy is unconscious, the little demon spends the night going through absolutely everything in the cottage, examining all the mysterious things with total fascination.


	29. Not Gay

A stable in the Cotswolds, early in a mid-week morning of sunny, warm late autumn days. Alexis, the manager, Georgia, and Crowley are walking toward the gate to a large field. Boris, the big black Irish draught stallion, is standing with his head over the gate.

_He’s taken to standing here most of the day, as if he’s waiting for something. And he’s been very depressed and off his feed. It occurred to me that all this has been subsequent to your visit, Mr. Crowley. You dosed him with whiskey, didn’t you?_

_Didn’t seem to hurt him._

_No. Horses are big animals. They can tolerate a moderate amount of alcohol. What I’d like to know is why his arthritis seems to have disappeared. _

Crowley looks totally innocent and mystified.

_What arthritis?_

Seeing the three approach, the stallion nickers loudly. Crowley walks up and gives the big nose a fist bump. Boris snorts a cloud of grassy breath. Crowley pulls out his flask, unscrews the lid, takes a quick swig, blows into Boris’s nostrils, and taps the horse’s lower lip with the flask. The horse once again attempts his trick of snatching the flask, but Crowley’s too fast for him.

_Uh uh. Manners. Open up._

The demon again taps the horse’s lower lip with the flask, and Boris opens his mouth. Crowley pours a stiff one into the cup of the horse’s large rubbery lower lip, takes another sip himself while Boris smacks his lips and tongue and swallows the whiskey. He turns to Georgia and Alexis.

_If you don’t mind, we boys would like to have a little get together by ourselves._

Crowley climbs atop the rail fence, and Boris turns to face him, opens mouth for another drink. Alexis is exasperated.

_All well and good, Mr. Crowley. But I must insist that you not ride Boris. You are not properly equipped – not even a helmet. My insurers will not be happy if I allow unsafe behavior. And not simply because you could be injured. Boris is a very valuable animal._

_No worries. I’m not at all keen on horseback riding._

Alexis and Georgia retreat to a picnic table beneath a nearby tree, and watch as Crowley and Boris seem to work their way through far more whiskey than a small flask is likely to contain. Alexis is intent and worried.

_I’d ask you inside for a coffee in the lounge, Georgia, but I’m too uneasy about letting Mr. Crowley go about unwatched. He definitely seems to have a rapport with Boris. I could see the difference in Boris from the moment that vintage car of Mr. Crowley’s could be heard in the drive. But is Mr. Crowley up to something, do you think, Georgia? _

_No idea, I’m afraid. He’s a very unpredictable . . . man. I’m certain he means no harm to Boris, though._

_Oh my god!_

Boris has positioned himself parallel to the fence, pressing against Crowley’s legs. Crowley slips atop his back, stows his flask. The big horse pivots and walks parallel to the fence, breaks into a trot, then proceeds to circle the field at a brisk canter. Halfway across the field, Boris turns toward the gate and breaks into a full gallop. Shortening stride just a bit before the gate, he sails over it and goes thundering across the yard to the trail that crosses a meadow and goes up the hill into the woods.

Crowley during all this has been holding onto the horse’s mane, leaning forward to keep balanced as best he can. Horse hair is very slippery, and he hangs on for dear life once it’s apparent Boris is going to try to jump the gate. He decides to use a bit of levitation to help the old horse across. It’s not sliding right off the animal’s rump during the upward leap that worries Crowley, however; it’s the steep downside landing, likely to be hard on the horse as well as possibly sending Crowley either onto his head in the dirt or atop the crotch-bruising rail of the horse’s neck. The finger snap of levitation thus has a dual result of clearing the gate and softening the landing. Boris lands smoothly, and they’re off towards the woods.

Alexis grabs Georgia and they run toward the stable.

_C’mon! We’ll mount up and follow them. . . . Leslie! Leslie! Come quick!_

Leslie runs out of the tack shed and joins them. The three women get a pair of horses ready to ride.

* * *

Boris relaxes and slows to a canter as they descend the hill through the woods, hoof beats deadened by the carpet of fallen leaves along the path, Crowley praying all the while that the horse doesn’t trip on a root or that there aren’t any tree branches low enough to smack him in the face. The trail circles a small lake at the bottom of the dale. The horse leaves the trail and trots through the grass and rushes into the lake, stops and paws with a front hoof to splash water against his stomach. Crowley urges him forward through the lily pads deeper into the water. Just before the water hits his boots, the demon magics his clothing off onto the shoreline. The lake turns out to be deep enough for the horse to swim. Both horse and rider have a body temperature above the average human’s. Crowley stands up on the broad back, then falls off sideways into the water. The chill water feels delightful against the demon’s hot skin. He can swim like an otter, and glides alongside the big horse, then speeds up and circles to the front. Using his hands, he squirts a jet of water into Boris’s face, laughs and swims around alongside to re-mount. The horse swings his head around and gooses Crowley in the back of his thighs, causing the demon to swing his legs up and roll right off the other side into the water. 

The two continue to – literally – horse around in the lake until Alexis and Georgia ride up just in time to face a nude Crowley standing mid-pond atop Boris’s rump. He falls backward into the water with a giant splash, then swims around and slithers his shapely backside atop Boris. The horse swims and wades to shore and stands opposite the two riders, greeting the other two horses with a friendly nicker. Shakes his head and dripping mane to release a spray of water. Crowley smooths his hands over his sodden hair to press some of the water out, then down his chest, flicks water from his fingertips. The two women regard the dripping demon rider with cool gazes.

_Isn’t the water a bit cold, Mr. Crowley?_

_A bit. If you ladies will permit, I’d like to retrieve my clothing and get dressed._

_We’ll all return to the yard, shall we?_

_If Boris wants to._

The pair of women wheel their horses about and ride back up the path. Once they’re out of sight in the trees, Crowley magics Boris and himself dry and his clothing back on. He leans his body toward the path.

_What d’ you say, Boris? Follow the mares back to the stable for a little snack of oats? Maybe a carrot?_

As if he actually understands Crowley, Boris walks up the hill after the other two riders. The demon feels like a nice hot water bottle atop his back muscles. He keeps his ears turned to listen as Crowley sings _The Ballad of Otterburn. _Over 800 years Crowley has learned a number of versions of this stirring ballad, which he likes because it reminds him of why he’s so glad the 14th century is receding into the past.

_They swak’d swords and sair they swat, the blood ran doon like rain . . ._

As they approach the yard, Crowley sees that the gate to the field is open and the two women and their horses are inside, awaiting Boris’s arrival. Boris, however, has other ideas, and heads toward the stable. It’s an antique building, and the doorway is not as high as it would be in a newer construction. Rather than risk getting scraped off or banged into the doorjambs, Crowley slips off and follows Boris inside. The horse walks to the very end box, wherein a sturdy little chestnut horse is standing. 

With a stallion loose, Alexis has instructed Georgia and Leslie to keep the two saddled horses well away from the stable door. Alexis trots up carrying a halter, being careful to stay to the side of the aisle in case Boris decides to bolt back out.

_That’s our new Icelandic stallion, Angel. _

Crowley starts and looks at Alexis.

_Angel?_

_An odd name for a stallion, I suppose. The former owner’s little daughter named him. That mop of golden mane. _

Crowley’s posture subtly relaxes.

_Seems to be getting on with Boris well enough. Are they friends?_

Alexis looks thoughtful.

_Do you know, I don’t believe Angel has been turned out with Boris. Boris has been so temperamental lately, I haven’t been anxious to see how he’d interact with a new stallion. Perhaps we should try an experiment. _

She opens the latch to Angel’s box, and slips inside. 

_Keep that gate closed, Mr. Crowley. But don’t re-fasten the latch. I’m going to take Angel out into the paddock. If Boris wants to follow and seems calm about it, let him._

She crosses the box, and opens the door to the outside paddock. Makes a sort of clicking tch-tch noise to attract Angel’s attention. When he turns to look, she goes up to him and pats him in various places to encourage him to turn and walk into the paddock. Crowley has been watching Boris carefully, and when he sees the big horse start to turn to the box gate, opens it and stands well aside. Boris follows Angel out into the paddock. There is no fracas. The two animals mosey around one another other and then stand companionably together like two mates having a beer in a pub. Alexis goes back inside, returns with the small horse’s halter. Slips it onto him. Then halters Boris, who stands quietly and makes no objection. She goes off and returns with two lead ropes, snaps them on. 

_Mr. Crowley, do you think you can lead Boris?_

She turns and leads Angel back into the stable, out through the exit, into the yard, and across to the gate to Boris’s field. Opens the gate, and once both horses are inside she closes the gate and removes their halters. The two animals trot off toward the center of the field, then stand and give one another little nibbles, the smaller animal having to stretch his head a bit to reach Boris’s withers. Crowley regards Alexis.

_Can horses be gay?_

_Yes. But unless one tries to mount the other, Mr. Crowley, I think they simply like each other and have bonded. Perhaps having a new friend is what Boris needed. We’ll let the two pasture together and see how it goes over the next few days. The real problem seems to be you. Taking Boris over a jump that high was completely irresponsible and dangerous. Again, not just for you. For Boris._

_I didn’t take him! He took me! _

_I did tell you not to ride him, didn’t I? _

_Well, Boris had other ideas about that, too. _(Shouts) _Hoy! Boris! I have to be going now. _

The horse looks at Crowley, then trots to the gate and holds his head over it. Crowley reaches up and strokes the animal’s cheek and neck, then gives him a firm pat.

_Bye, Boris._ _Gotta go. Try to behave yourself. Don’t do anything I would do._

Boris nuzzles Crowley’s shoulder. Alexis turns and, lightly touching Crowley’s arm, leads him away to find Georgia. Boris snorts in a friendly fashion and goes back to graze with Angel. 

Three days later, Georgia calls Crowley.

_Crowley, Alexis just called me. Apparently now both Boris and Angel seem to be pining at the gate for you. Would it be convenient for you to make another visit? Any time that suits you._

* * *

The Battle of Otterburn, 1388

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Otterburn>

Tony Cuff, Child Ballad 161 sung to melody of Derwentwater’s Farewell (1715 Jacobite Uprising) 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYvK2d0D8GY 

It fell about the Lammas time,

When muir-men win their hay,

The doughty Douglas bound him ride,

Tae England tae catch a prey,

He’s ta’en the Gordons and the Graemes,

And the Lindsays light and gai,

But the Jardines wad not wi’ him ride,

And they rue it tae this day.

And he has burnt the dales of Tyne,

And part o’ Banbrough shire,

The Otter dale he’s burnt it hale,

And set it a’ on fire,

And he raed up tae Newcastle,

And rode it roond aboot,

Saying, “whar’s the laird o’ this castle,

And whar’s the lady o’t?”

And up spake braw Lord Percy then,

And O but he spak hie,

“I am the lord o’ this castle,

My wife’s the lady gaye.

If thou’rt the lord o’ this castle,

Sae weel it pleases me,

For ere I cross the Border fells,

The tane o’ us shall die.”

They lichted high on Otterburn,

Upon the bank sae bruin,

They lichted high on Otterburn,

And threw their broadswords doon,

But up there spoke a bonnie boy,

Before the break o’ dawn,

Saying, “Wake ye now my good lord sir,

Lord Percy’s near at hand”.

When Percy wi’ the Douglas met,

I wat he was fu’ fain,

They swak’d swords and sair they swat,

And blood ran doon between,

But Percy wi’ his guid braid sword,

That could sae sharply wound,

Has wounded Douglas on the brow,

Till he fell tae the ground.

O bury me ‘neath the braken-bush,

That grows by yonder breer,

Let never a living mortal ken,

That Douglas he lies here,

They’ve lifted up that noble lord,

Wi the saut tear in his e'e

They’ve buried him ‘neath the bracken bush,

That his merry men might not see,

When Percy wi’ Montgomery met,

That either of other were fain,

They swak’d swords and sair they swat,

The blood ran doon like rain,

This deed was done at Otterburn,

Afore the break of day,

Earl Douglas was buried at the bracken bush,

And Percy led captive away.

Another version, sung by The Corries <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHkcjQheQZk>

Ten agonizing minutes with more of the 35 verses, sung by Daniel Kelly. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=up6Entdz4kU>

Gluttons for punishment can also research The Ballad of Chevy Chase (Child #162)

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ballad_of_Chevy_Chase>

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnm6M0JMQtI>


	30. The Nice Plan

Hell. Beelzebub’s “My Door Is Always Open” office that no demon in its right mind would ever actually walk into, Crowley being so far the one and only survivor of such an entry.

Beelzebub sits gently tapping her hands upon the edge of her massive ebony executive desk, lost in thought. That time Crowley flew in, in a blind rage about Hastur’s attack upon his angel, she had observed a gold star above the snake sigil on his cheek.* The snake sigil she had branded upon him when she created his celestial body as a reward for his outstanding performance in the Garden of Eden. And now The Almighty had marked Crowley with – what? A sign of favor? A claim of ownership? What had Crowley done? Did the mark come with Powers? And what is, Crowley, really? Is he a ringer from The Almighty? Perhaps he always has been? Or is he indeed merely a little Seraphim hanger-on who sauntered vaguely downward and got kicked out with the rest of The Fallen?

The Archangel Michael possesses a mind of brilliant and subtle intelligence; however, Beelzebub is Lucifer’s companion for a reason, and it isn’t merely because of luminous original beauty. Her mind is inferior only to Lucifer’s, who is second only to The Almighty, Herself. Beelzebub’s body might be that of a little fly woman at the present, but her intellect is undiminished.

Crowley is the key. He has seduced an angel. Reports and rumors converge upon the likelihood that the pair has discovered Divine Bliss. Beelzebub’s fingers burn grooves into her desk top and she gnashes her teeth. Once that moment of rage has passed, she considers how to force that slippery little slacker Crowley to reveal his Powers, if indeed The Almighty has given him any. 

Beelzebub recollects how everyone was taken in by The Great Plan. It isn’t necessary to be a superior intellect to catch a clue from that episode. Obviously, the best way to rub all the fingerprints off an evil scheme is to tempt The Opposition into believing they’re just following orders. Orders from Gabriel.

Beelzebub repairs the grooves in her desk, continues to softly tap her hands as she thinks . . .

* * *

*From _You Can Stay at My Place if You Like_


	31. Chatty DeeDee

Tadfield. Afternoon after school, Madame Tracy’s tea shop. The four Them walk in, and Adam abruptly halts. He squints to make sure his aura vision is indeed seeing what he thinks he seeing. He’s looking at DeeDee.

_Whoa._

_What is it, Adam?_

_The girl behind the counter. She’s a demon._

The words are hardly out of his mouth when, to the total surprise of the other customers, the girl darts from behind the counter and prostrates herself to Adam’s feet in a kowtow, her forehead on the floor.

Y_oung Master!_

Adam looks around and laughs.

_Just a joke._

Adam whispers to the girl,

_Hsst! Stop that! Stand up right now!_

DeeDee leaps to follow Young Master’s command, and the four teens surround her and herd her to a table in the back that they like to use. Madame Tracy comes over and sits with them. Everyone else returns to trying to mind their own business. 

_This is DeeDee, Mr. Fell’s niece. She arrived yesterday evening and Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley asked if I could lodge her for the night. They were to come in earlier this morning to discuss further arrangements. But they have evidently been detained._

Adam has already noticed the rainbow auras flickering around the bookshop, and makes an accurate guess as to what’s detaining the pair. The four exchange quick glances. If Madame Tracy thinks DeeDee is a human niece, best they clam up for now about Adam’s recognition of what she really is.

_Oh, I must be off behind the counter. Someone’s just come in. _

Pepper jumps up to follow her.

_I can help, Madame Tracy._

Adam looks around, sees that the shop is rather crowded and even whispered conversation is likely to be overheard.

_Pep, we’re going to go back outside and get some stuff. You come too, DeeDee._

The three boys and DeeDee exit the shop. Brian looks across the street to the bookshop.

_Think we should go see Aziraphale?_

_“Closed “ sign is up, Brian. Crowley’s Bentley is out front, they’re probably busy at something and don’t want to be disturbed._

Brian and Wensleydale aren’t stupid, and recollect the apple tree gossip. They look at one another, each mentally thinking, respectively:

_Fucking_

_Making love_

DeeDee is not so circumspect.

_I checked on them this morning. They’re doing that human thing where one human sticks his penis into another human._

DeeDee does not know that a talent she shares with Uriel – the ability to just walk through material objects such as walls and doors – is not common among the general populace, angels and demons included. She blithely chatters on:

_I didn’t know demons could do that. Is it an angel thing? Did Angel Aziraphale teach Demon Crowley how?_

The three boys are now crimson, despite their best efforts to be cool.

_Did they see you, DeeDee?_

_Yes. Demon Crowley told me to get the fuck out and stay out. So here I am. I’ve been helping Madame Tracy. I’m very good at cleaning things. And the food you have here on Earth is so wonderful! I’ve had six cups of cocoa today! And those things called croissants are . . . oh, I don’t have a word for how good they are!_

_Why are you here, DeeDee?_

_Lord Beelzebub has us posted all over London to watch over Demon Crowley and his angel. Last night two angels came and tried to take Angel Aziraphale away. I warned Demon Crowley in time. He killed the two angels. _

_He _what_?_

_I mean, he discorporated them. _

_What’s that?_

_When you destroy a body. Then we immortal beings have to go and get issued a new one. There’s a lot of paperwork, and it takes a while. It always takes me about 6 weeks. I get discorporated a lot in Hell. But I’m just a Disposable Demon, and that is our lot._

_How did Crowley . . . discorporate two angels?_

_He pulled two little guns from his jacket and shot them in the back of their heads. Angels are pretty when they discorporate – lots of little glittery bits. We demons just turn into smoking soot._

The three boys are trying very hard to just roll with all this. 

_You followed Crowley here?_

_No. He dragged me into the car with them, and told me to stay down on the floor. I was scared. I was afraid his angel was going to torment me._

_Aziraphale is a nice person, he’d never do that._

_Don’t say that! Nice is a filthy, dirty word! Shame on you! Angel Aziraphale is very kind, you should not say things like that about him. If you do that again, I will smite you!_

DeeDee looks about as threatening as a kitten, but the three aren’t really sure what a demon – even a small freckled one – is capable of.

_Whoa. Chill, DeeDee. We have a different meaning for that word than you do. We weren’t trying to insult Aziraphale. You are right, he is a very kind person, and would never harm anyone._

She continues to scowl suspiciously at them. Then simmers down.

_Young Master, may I go back inside and continue helping Madame Tracy? _

_Sure. Would you tell Pepper to come outside if she can?_

_Is that the pretty brown girl? _

_Yes._

_I will do so._

She bows deeply to Adam, and goes back into the shop. Pepper soon exits and joins them.

_Wait’ll you hear this, Pep! Let’s take our bikes to your place. I think your Mums need to know about what DeeDee just told us, too._


	32. DeeDee Reports to Beelzebub

Tadfield. Saturday morning. Aziraphale’s bookshop. Crowley’s on his phone, standing by the door. Aziraphale is still in the back room.

_Young Master._

_Crowley. _

_Just checking in before I leave for London and you leave for Bermuda. I’ll be taking DeeDee with me. She has to check in with Beelzebub, or there will be trouble. When she gets back _(He doesn’t say, “_If she survives the interview with Beelzebub”), I’ll give her a secure phone so she can contact you if there’s something she thinks you need to know._

Adam laughs.

_Feels weird, Hell trying to protect me._

_You’re welcome. Uriel and Ammun are in London with their delivery truck, continuing their monitoring operation. I’ll ask them to get DeeDee back to Tadfield. I’m off on a business trip. I won’t be able to contact you. Will be gone 10 days, back Monday after next. _

_Where are you going, Crowley?_

_Best not to tell. Not safe. Not even Aziraphale knows. I’ve merely told him I must go on a business trip, and requested that he not go to London himself under any circumstances. You’ll be with your family on that Bermuda trip until Tuesday after next, correct?_

_Yes. You and I will both be gone ten days. Dad and Mum and I get back the day after you do._

_So we’re clear on where we’ll all be?_

_Yes._

_You’ll like Bermuda. Ciao, kid._

Aziraphale emerges from the back room, dressed in his favorite tailored slacks, Balmoral boots, shirt and Fair Isle sweater in celestial shades of gold, pastel blue, and cream. Golden silk velvet bowtie. Takes a look out the window.

_Not raining. We don’t need coats just to go across the street this morning._

_Might start raining while we’re having breakfast._

_Well then, we’ll just have to skippity hop back._

Crowley regards the angel, thinking _“Skippity hop?” _Then he laughs, claps Aziraphale on the shoulder, as they exit to go to Madame Tracy’s. Rain never lands on Crowley, in any event.

* * *

Main Office Building, London. DeeDee is taking the down escalator. She works her way through the smoky, crowded corridors in search of Beelzebub, finding the Prince of Hell at last in the Reincorporation Ward. She kowtows, saying nothing until spoken to.

_About time. Rise._

Beelzebub grabs the scruff of DeeDee’s hoodie as the little demon stands, and marches swiftly off toward her office, a wave of incandescent heat preceding her. Demons scatter. DeeDee gives up trying to get her footing, and is simply dragged from Beelzebub’s hand like a limp blanket. Disposable Demons text one another, pretty sure this isn’t going to end well for DeeDee. Why hadn’t Beelzebub discorporated the little demon right on the spot? Was she going to torment her? A small crowd of Disposable Demons gathers in Beelzebub’s wake, keeping just out of sight, wondering who might be expendable enough to risk taking a peek through Beelzebub’s massive ebony office portal to try to see what happens.

Beelzebub waves her hand to turn off the Fry Low Level Demons Upon Entry feature of the portal, throws DeeDee to the floor in front of her desk, assumes a slouched position in her executive chair.

_Report._

DeeDee is kneeling, hands clasped in supplication.

_Yes, Your Disgrace. Demon Crowley melted my phone. I couldn’t call. He brought me back just now._

_Where have you been?_

_In Tadfield, Your Disgrace. _

_How did you come to be there?_

_I was at my assigned watch post, Your Disgrace, when I saw two strange angels appear down the block. They seemed to be headed to the pub where Demon Crowley and his angel were inside. I ran to warn Demon Crowley. He made me sit next to his angel. The two angels came in, and Demon Crowley discorporated them. _

_How did he do that?_

_He shot them in their heads with two small guns that he had hidden in his jacket, Your Disgrace. Then he made me get into his car and drove us to Tadfield._

_To the Angel Aziraphale’s bookshop? _

_Yes, Your Disgrace. But only for a little while. Demon Crowley lodged me with a female human for the night. When I tried to see him at the bookshop yesterday morning, he told me to get the fuck out and stay out. So I have been working at the human’s tea shop, cleaning things, and I stayed another night at her cottage._

Beelzebub doesn’t need lessons in reading between subordinates’ lines.

_Was Crowley engaged in some activity he did not want you to see?_

_I don’t know, Your Disgrace. _

_What was he doing?_

_He and the Angel Aziraphale were doing that mating thing humans do, Your Disgrace. Like in their movies._

Beelzebub doesn’t so much as twitch, and her visage remains stony, but one arm of her chair melts a bit beneath the fingers of her hand.

_Describe in detail what you saw._

_Yes, Your Disgrace. They were naked. Demon Crowley was crouching on his arms and knees with his butt raised. The Angel Aziraphale was kneeling close behind Demon Crowley, his stomach against Demon Crowley’s backside._

_Was Demon Crowley in pain?_

_I don’t know, Your Disgrace. He wasn’t screaming._

_Was he in male or female form?_

_I couldn’t see exactly, Your Disgrace, but he looked different. His eyebrows looked like little horns. His eyes were pale. He had red claws. And he hissed._

_Did the angel also see you?_

_Yes, Your Disgrace. _

_Did he say anything?_

_No, Your Disgrace. He just looked at me._

_Was he angry?_

_No, Your Disgrace. He was very calm. He leaned back a bit, and that’s when I could see that his penis was inside Demon Crowley. That’s what made me think they were doing the human thing. And then I ran away, following Demon Crowley’s order._

_Did Demon Crowley reprimand you?_

_No, Your Disgrace. He and his angel stayed in the bookshop until this morning. I was at the tea shop helping the human serve breakfast. Demon Crowley and his angel came in and ate sausages, eggs, tomatoes, and croissants. With cappuccinos. The Angel Aziraphale asked me to sit with them and gave me a cup of cocoa and a croissant. He talked to me about getting a bicycle for me to ride. Demon Crowley told me to come with him to London so I could report to you. He dropped me off at the Main Office entrance._

DeeDee closes her eyes, awaiting discorporation.

_Is Demon Crowley waiting for you to return?_

_No, Your Disgrace. He told me you’d probably discorporate me, no sense in waiting around._

_I want you to continue your surveillance duties. In Tadfield. Here is a new phone._

A small cell phone materializes in DeeDee’s hoodie pocket. Beelzebub flicks her index finger, and the little demon vanishes.

A Disposable Demon peeps around a corner in the corridor, watching to see if DeeDee emerges. She does not. A long time passes before Beelzebub enters the corridor and continues her Management By Walking Around. Once she’s out of sight, two Disposable Demons creep into the corridor opposite the ebony portal. They know better than to get close, as the portal is once again shimmering with waves of heat. Their backs to the opposite corridor wall, they peer around until they can see enough of the empty office that it seems unlikely DeeDee is inside. No remains on the floor. They message their mates in the Reincorporation Ward, but DeeDee hasn’t turned up there. Her phone number hasn’t worked for days. Where could she be?


	33. Aziraphale, Demon Lover

Tadfield. Saturday. Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Aziraphale opens the bookshop early on Saturdays, as he’s discovered the crowd from the popular Saturday breakfast at Madame Tracy’s tea shop across the street often likes to come in and browse for books while they digest. He’s started a program of accepting used books the locals would otherwise discard, and offering them for re-sale at the price of 20 pence. This section of the shop has been a total success – customers carry things away by the armful. It also saves the wear and tear on his collection – i.e., the books he theoretically has on offer for sale. Tadfield being the kind of place it is, some interesting old titles have been turned in among the mix. If Aziraphale decides to add these to the sales offerings, he gives the owners a modest commission. If the books sell. Which of course he does his best to discourage.

Janet and Georgia have invited Aziraphale over for dinner. He closes the shop sufficiently early in the evening that he can bicycle to their home, stopping on the way to collect DeeDee. Madame Tracy closes the tea shop early in the afternoon, just after lunch (_“Breakfast and luncheon is quite enough work for one day, people can do their own Saturday tea”_). DeeDee has been given permission to use Madame Tracy’s bicycle, and she and Aziraphale peddle off together on the old sit-up-and-beg bikes.

Dinner turns out to be a pizza with fresh homemade yeasty dough and inventive toppings, an equally interesting green salad, a nice red wine for the three adults, ginger beer for Pepper and DeeDee. Georgia has been trying to master the art of the flan, and a beautiful caramel-covered dessert awaits. 

DeeDee eats daintily, one small bite at a time, chewing each thoroughly as if to extract maximum enjoyment. It takes her the whole meal to work her way through one slice of pizza. She refuses the salad; like Crowley, she considers vegetables and greens not worth the effort of chewing. Celestial bodies don’t need vitamins and roughage.

While Janet slices up the flan into individual servings, Georgia makes a suggestion:

_DeeDee, why don’t you come with me and Pepper tomorrow to London. We’re going to shop for a new bike for her. Aziraphale has suggested that we could perhaps find one for you, too. There’s room on the car rack, it would be no problem getting it back to Tadfield._

_Yes, my dear. Uriel and Madame Tracy are not always available as biking companions, and it’s nicer when two can share the scenery and sights along the way. _

_You’re an angel, so we could go at night! I love riding in the night! It’s so spooky!_

_I do as well. Very peaceful then. Owls hooting and such. _

He regards the other three, who are wearing somewhat puzzled expressions.

_Angels and demons don’t sleep. And we can see quite well in the dark. Demons exceptionally so, Crowley informs me, which enables them to out-lurk us angels. That’s certainly been our experience, at least. Crowley always picks up on things that I miss._

_Surely you don’t spend your nights lurking about the town, Aziraphale?_

_Oh my goodness, no. Past centuries. Nowadays I simply enjoy listening to music and sipping a glass of wine or scotch while reading in my armchair. And Crowley and I often practice dancing._

DeeDee’s face takes on a devilish look.

_We could have a lot of fun on Halloween night._

_That’s exactly what Crowley said, as a matter of fact._

DeeDee continues:

_Wensleydale asked me to come with him to the Halloween Ball. He said all we’d have to do is think up some costumes and dance a few times together. I don’t know how to dance, so he said he’ll show me how to tango. _

Pepper:

_I think Wensley fancies you, DeeDee. _

_He likes being around me?_

_You could put it that way._

_We don’t have to do that human thing, do we?_

_Snog, you mean?_

_And what humans do after snogging. In the movies._

_Wensley’s only 13, DeeDee. I don’t expect him to do anything like that until he’s at least 22. _

Janet and Georgia laugh. Pepper is indignant.

_What’s so funny? That’s what Wensley told me last time we were discussing sex. He said he’d rather wait until he’s finished his exams. I told him he didn’t have to wait that long, and he said he knew that, but he just hoped he wouldn’t get into a relationship that wrecks his career, like always seems to happen on TV._

Pepper turns to DeeDee.

_Whatev, I don’t think you need to worry about Wensley putting the moves on you._

_Good. I don’t want to have to be a succubus. Ick._

_Time for dessert, everyone. Bit of dry sherry as well, Aziraphale? Or would you prefer a coffee?_

* * *

Later that night. Janet and Georgia’s bedroom.

_Well. Janet, first we get to worry about our Pepper being a witch attracted to hot demon boys. Now we get to be concerned about Wensleydale being smitten by a demon._

_She doesn’t seem at all enthusiastic about that possibility._

_No, she doesn’t. Didn’t that strike you as odd? After all, the legends are always about demons being fatally seductive. Crowley once told me that demons aren’t into sex just for fun. That they view it as a way to lead humans to damnation. I wonder if they don’t actually enjoy it, but consider it a job? _

Janet laughs.

_The job of sex, instead of the joy of sex?_

_And DeeDee’s disgust at the idea of being a succubus. The myths are pretty consistent that supernatural beings are supposed to be immortal, with incorruptible bodies. They view humans as inferior, made from matter. Dust. You caught DeeDee’s phrase, “that human thing,” yes?_

_Hm. Yeah. As if demons don’t have sex. Only humans do. Why do they have genitals, then, if they don’t use them with one other? _

_Yes. That is a puzzle. Crowley and Aziraphale certainly do. I think we can pretty much put paid to that question. Is supernatural sex different? Do you suppose they consider sex with humans in about the same light as we consider sex with animals? _

_Perhaps with Crowley & Aziraphale it’s an opposites attract situation? One is a demon, the other an angel. Positive and negative. Lightning strikes! And the tradition is that they’re implacable enemies. Paradise Lost. Michael driving Satan out of Heaven. Could we be in the midst of a supernatural Romeo and Juliet drama? _

_Crowley executed two angels who wanted to take Aziraphale with them. I see no reason to suspect DeeDee was making up a story when she told the boys what happened in London. “Two small guns.” Using a .22 to the back of the head is the preferred method of mob hitters. Not too loud a report, almost no blood spatter. Death is almost always instantaneous. _

_Well, you’re ex-FBI, so you’d know details like that. What I wonder is how Crowley managed to be packing concealed weapons. In London, of all places? Is he doing it here in Tadfield as well?_

_Remind me to frisk him the next time we meet. _(Laughs) _My great-great-grandad said that Crowley’s Colt .45 was an unusual gun. It was an army issue model with a long barrel. Generally not preferred for a quick draw. Shorter barreled models were sold to civilians. He thought perhaps that’s why Crowley wore it in a cross-draw position, in order to get it out of its holster more quickly._

_What’s a cross-draw position?_

_Where you have the holster on your left hip instead of on your right, as one sees in all the cowboy movies. Great-great-grandad said Crowley had a lightning draw. Apparently in the last century he’s also learned to shoot straight. I wonder if he still has that .45? I’d like to take a look at it._

_You’re more at ease with guns than I will ever be. And I’m now convinced that a match between a sweet gay angel running a used bookstore and a gun-toting demon with all the instincts of an assassin does not seem likely to be approved of by their respective organizations. And our kids are getting caught up in this. Now I’ll be staring at the ceiling all night._

Georgia laughs and gives her a hug.

_Remember what I told you about Boris the horse? I could be wrong about this, but I suspect animals generally don’t cotton to people who are vicious. They read the signals and keep away, if they can. Crowley may be dangerous, but he obviously loves Aziraphale. And the love is mutual. _

_It’s the Montagues and the Capulets that worry me. Why did Crowley have to kill two of them, at all? Are they coming for our angel and demon lovers?_

_Yes. There is that. OK, Janet. Now you’ve got _me_ staring at the ceiling._

* * *

Aziraphale enters the dark bookshop, not bothering to turn on the lights, and heads for the back room.

Gabriel appears before him.

_Gabriel. What an unpleasant surprise. What brings you here?_

Too late he realizes The Twins have come up behind him. With practiced ease, they each grab one of his arms and twist it behind his back, then cuff his arms together

_Stop! That hurts!_

Ignoring his plea, they tape his hands against his forearms so he cannot move them.

_Nice clothes, Aziraphale. You look quite natty._

_Gabriel! What is the meaning of this?_

_We’re rescuing you. Bringing you home for re-education and repentance._

_No! You mustn’t! _

_Prepare yourself for transport, or risk discorporation, Aziraphale._

The Twins station themselves on each side of Aziraphale, firmly gripping his arms. A moment later, Gabriel gestures upward, and all four angels vanish.


	34. The Passion of Aziraphale

Heaven. Evening. The hallway to Gabriel’s office suite outside the Portal to The Presence.

Aziraphale has spent the last 20 hours with his arms and legs roped to a chair, alone save for a security angel with a flaming sword. Gabriel has had meetings with angels from the lighted side of the globe during the dark hours in London; attending to Aziraphale is not high on his list of tasks for the following day, and he doesn’t get around to it until evening. Numerous angels have come and gone, observing Aziraphale with curiosity but not stopping to speak with him. 

Finally Michael and The Twins arrive. The two thrones untie Aziraphale, but then once again painfully pinion his arms behind him, tight in security cuffs with his palms turned toward his forearms. Each grabbing one of his arms, they escort him into the office where Gabriel, his security agent Baraquiel, and Michael are waiting. The Twins join the other three angels and stand confronting Aziraphale.

_So. Aziraphale. You’ve had some time to contemplate your depravity. Having any second thoughts about your boyfriend in dark glasses?_

_No. I love him._

_And I suppose you imagine that he loves you. That he’s not merely exploiting your perverted lust to cause you to Fall?_

_He does love me._

Michael interjects:

_Aziraphale, you do recollect just who Crowley is?_

_He’s the demon who’s been opposite me on Earth for the past 6,000 years._

_Before that._

_He tempted Eve to eat the apple in the Garden of Eden._

_Before that._

_I don’t know._

_He was a Seraphim. One of Lucifer’s hangers-on. Helped Lucifer spin galaxies. His body was six wings, plumage, and a face so he could sing in The Presence. Used to go around perched upon Lucifer’s shoulder like a bird. After the Fall, it was Beelzebub who gave him his celestial body in human form. You must have noticed the snake sigil branded upon his cheek. He is a demonic creation._

Gabriel picks up from Michael:

_Is it true that you have been defiling your celestial body not only with the gross matter you consume as human food? That you have been allowing the Demon Crowley to . . . I can scarcely bring myself to say this, the possibility is so appalling . . . slake his lust upon your body?_

_It is not lust. We love one another._

Aziraphale cannot contain the waves of happiness and longing that wash across his gentle face as he thinks of Crowley. There is a long silence as the five angels contemplate him with mixtures of disgust and sharp concern. Gabriel steps up and slaps Aziraphale in the face. This action causes a ripple of uneasiness to pass through the other angels, for differing reasons. Aziraphale stands slumped for a moment with his face turned to the floor, then straightens himself and gazes defiantly at Gabriel.

_You may be the Archangel fucking Gabriel, but you’re a fool._

_My my. Such defiance. Still a traitor to the Heavenly Host? Think that makes you no longer an incompetent little twerp? _

Aziraphale stands silently.

Michael continues from Gabriel:

_You must realize that your behavior is leading to your downfall, Aziraphale. Already you are a disgrace to the angelic host. Every demon is Hell is sniggering about the Demon Crowley’s seduction of an angel. Surely you know this?_

Aziraphale makes no reply. After some moments, Gabriel’s unblinking violet eyes regard him, remaining locked and unwavering while he speaks.

_I believe you need some more time to meditate upon your current path. It can only lead to your downfall into Hell. But repentance is still available to you, Aziraphale. Contemplate that._

He gestures, and Aziraphale’s clothing vanishes, leaving him nude. Another gesture and Aziraphale begins to turn to stone, starting at his feet. He twists away from Gabriel, his face turned upward to the Portal to the Presence. And then no further movement is possible. He is a marble statue.

_Michael. Arrange for Housekeeping to place him back in the corridor outside. _

Gabriel nods to Michael and The Twins.

_You may go._

[ ](https://imgur.com/7KlBJdd)


	35. Art Installation

Heaven. Corridor outside Gabriel’s office suite.

Aziraphale feels a rising dark tide of terror as he realizes that he can still feel, see, and hear everything, but cannot move. It’s as if he is buried alive. He wants to scream, but he cannot. And then a golden raft appears for him to climb aboard, stay afloat upon the sea of madness – the memory of Crowley. Crowley who had suffered unendurable pain. What would he do now? He recollects a prior conversation:

_Crowley, do you ever cry?_

_Nope. I don’t think I can. Whenever I feel like crying, it turns into rage instead. It’s as if a coil of incense is ignited inside me. A slow burn working outward. Probably just another result of that splash into the burning sulfur lake. It’s not something I’ve ever worried about, at any rate._

_I used to cry a lot. The stuff humans do is appalling. And then I finally realized that they are what they are, their lives are short, their grief ends. Unlike us, who have to face eternity. Sadness ends, for them. They die._

_Speaking as a demon in a position to know, crying isn’t going to wash away the agony. You’re stuck, and that’s it. Cry all you like, it provides no release. You’re going to watch The Sound Of Music for all eternity, and like it. Screaming works just fine, however.*_

Aziraphale’s mind wryly notes that he can’t even scream just now. So he may as well relax. Just be still. Wait. Float. Not sink and drown. Memories of his escapades with Crowley glow through his mental vision in an ongoing mind movie.

Two days pass. Angels come and go from Gabriel’s office, but most don’t even spare him a glance. Those that do separate into disgust and pity. No one stops to contemplate the statue. And then something even more horrifying happens.

* * *

Heaven. Late evening in the Main Office Building lobby. A construction crew of angels is putting the finishing touches on what appears to be a shallow marble pool installation with a short pedestal in its center. Various bystander demons and angels have gathered to watch, standing together in separate groups as the construction crew vacuums up dust and wipes off the stone until it’s gleaming.

A freight elevator far in the back opens, and an angelic Housekeeping crew trundles an industrial handcart to which something wrapped in transport padding is strapped. They and the construction crew work together to unwrap and place the statue of Aziraphale atop the pedestal. Michael, dressed in floating ethereal white and carrying a large crystal pitcher, descends the escalator and pours what can only be Holy Water into the pool basin until it is full and the pitcher empty. Disposable Demons are snapping cell pics like mad during this entire event, and more of them trickle in through the entryway and up the escalator from The Basement.

Michael walks back and ascends the escalator, then turns when the crowd below utters a unanimous gasp. She drops the pitcher, which tumbles to the lobby floor and shatters. An enormous black stone statue of a crouching Egyptian jackal has appeared, completely filling the space between the pool and the escalator to Heaven. Its shoulders are higher than Aziraphale’s head. The fuliginous stone is dead matte and without polish. Light sinks into it with nary a reflection back. The jackal has no eyes – just infinite black space shows in the sockets. The high pointed ears resemble the triangular buttresses that frame the Gate to Hell. Anubis.

The lobby crowd of angels and demons alike has backed away in fright. Michael floats in place above the moving escalator. She reaches for her cell phone, taps it to snap a picture and make a call.

_Gabriel. We have a problem._

* * *

_*Pillow Talk, _in Crowley Gets a New Look


	36. Crypt of the Capulets

Tadfield. After school, in Inoue’s kendo dojo.

_Inoue-sensei, is Aziraphale-san not here today? _

_I do not know, Pepper-san. Always he comes before you. He likes to take the time to robe correctly._

_I’m worried, Inoue-sensei. May I go to his bookshop to see if he is all right?_

_Pepper-san, if you think something bad may have happened, it would be best for an adult to go with you. I will come, if you give me time to change my robes._

_Thank you, Inoue-sensei. I should call my mum Georgia. She used to be an American FBI agent. She’s should be at home now._

Pepper dashes off and gets her phone out of her backpack.

_Georgia? Aziraphale isn’t at kendo practice. He never ever misses. Can you meet me at the bookshop? Inoue-sensei thinks an adult should be with me._

_Janet has the car, Pepper, but I’ll be out the door and on my bike as soon as we hang up. We ought to arrive at about the same time. Thank Inoue-sensei for offering to accompany you. He is quite wise._

* * *

Pepper has also messaged Brian and Wensleydale, who arrive on their bikes a few minutes after Georgia. Pepper rattles the door, again, to no avail.

_Brian, do you have the key?_

_No. There isn’t a spare. How can we get in?_

Georgia is trying to remember her FBI lock-picking training. While the lock has an antique skeleton key, it’s been a long time since she was at the academy. She has never actually had to pick a lock herself. Specialists with the appropriate tools were always at hand. She gets out her phone and starts searching for instructions.

DeeDee runs across the street from Madame Tracy’s tea shop.

_What’s happening?_

_It’s Aziraphale. Nobody’s seen him since Saturday night. We’re trying to figure out how to get in to see if he’s all right._

_I can get in. But Demon Crowley has told me to stay out. I cannot disobey his command._

Pepper explodes.

_Demon Crowley can go boil his head! You get in there right now, DeeDee!_

DeeDee stands silently for a moment, considering her options. Pepper is present. Crowley is not. She isn’t sure whose command trumps whose.

_As you command, Witch Pepper._

DeeDee vanishes through the door. Brian stoops and calls through the keyhole.

_Is the key hanging alongside the door?_

_Yes. It is. How does it work?_

_You stick it into the keyhole and turn it._

DeeDee examines the door, finds what can only be the keyhole, inserts the key and twists. The deadbolt goes back and the door opens. She leaves the key in the lock. Georgia holds the three teens back.

_Stay outside. Let me go in first._

Proceeding as if she’s entering a crime scene, Georgia steps inside, stops, and examines the entire room. DeeDee, oblivious, has already raced away and into the back room, comes running back out.

_He’s not here, Georgia._

_DeeDee. Don’t go running off again. Did you see any signs of a disturbance? Overturned chairs, books on the floor, broken glass, something spilled?_

_No._

_Blood?_

_No._

_Wait here._

Georgia pulls a torch from her backpack, slowly shines it along the floor from left to right, scanning the floorboards and carpet. 

_There. Do those look like marks in the dust to you?_

_Yes._

The two approach carefully, Georgia scanning the floor as she walks ahead of DeeDee. She switches the torch to ultraviolet light to see if there are bodily fluid splashes. Weirdly and unexpectedly, what appear to be four sets of smudged and scuffed faintly luminous violet footprints appear. Two tracks coming from one of the shelf corridors. Another just appearing in one spot. And what must be Aziraphale’s - a faint trail from the door, ending a few feet from the stationary set of footprints. DeeDee has herself left a trail of small prints glowing a pale spectral green, running past and just missing the cluster. DeeDee hisses one word:

_Angels._

There are no violet tracks leading away from the cluster on the floor.

_They’ve taken him._

* * *

Georgia and DeeDee come back outside. Georgia pulls the key from the lock, shuts the door, re-locks it and pockets the key. 

_He’s not here. There are signs he has been kidnapped by angels. Pepper, you call Adam. See if he knows where Crowley is. Let’s all go to our house, we can’t stand around outside here. We can discuss what to do there._

* * *

It’s close to midnight in the Bahamas, but Adam awakens at Pepper’s ring tone and taps his phone. He listens as Pepper relates what has happened.

_Crowley’s away on a trip. He wouldn’t tell me where. Said it was too dangerous for anyone else to know. . . . Yeah, I know how you feel. I’ll call Uriel. Where are you, so I can tell her where to meet you? . . . OK. Bye. Call me again as soon as you know something._

Adam disconnects, then taps a hidden contact number. Away in a farmhouse in Tadfield, Uriel’s bejeweled Apple watch vibrates.

* * *

Uriel disconnects and looks at Ammun next to her on the couch. Seeing her expression, he puts his wine glass down on the side table.

_It’s Adam. Aziraphale has been kidnapped. By angels. Crowley’s gone off some place, nobody knows where. What do we do?_

_Summon Anubis._

The two angels go upstairs into their bedroom, where a plain linen curtain hangs on the wall opposite the bed. They pull the curtain aside to reveal a complex portal painted upon the wall, an ancient design from Egyptian temple mortuaries where embalming was done. Cartouches of hieroglyphics, twin papyrus pillars supporting a lintel from which a painted tapestry hangs, representing an embroidered and bejeweled portrait of the wolf-headed god Anubis. 

They assume their formal Presence appearances. Ammun has the head and neck of a black karakul ram. Curled horns. Chest hair like a curly bearskin rug. Egyptian wrapped linen shendyt and gold sandals. Wings tipped with gold. Uriel’s wing feathers are the pale green of the moon moth, tipped with gold. Her short filmy chiton, more sparkling golden fog than fabric, is clasped at the shoulders with gold fibulae. Her chocolate skin appears luminous, as if lit from within and dusted with gold powder.

Ammun pours a bit of oil into two ancient clay lamps mounted in brackets on the wall alongside the painting, and lights the wicks. The two then stand alongside one another several feet back from the wall, facing the portal, both hands raised to shoulder height, palms outward toward the portal. Ammun sings a brief chant in an ancient tongue. The painted tapestry appears to blow as if in a gentle breeze, and a black wisp emerges from the portal, spiraling larger until it coalesces into a slender Nilotic man, beautiful of countenance, ebony of skin, wearing a pleated linen shendyt, a jeweled corselet in a feather pattern of greenish and blue stones, with a matching broad jeweled collar. He wears gold armlets and bracelets. A lapis blue shawl is draped over the back of his head and over his shoulders. Surrounding his human head like a ghostly helmet is the head of an enormous black wolf with golden eyes. Anubis. He raises both hands in greeting and stands before them, his head brushing the ceiling. He says nothing, but cocks his head slightly as his glowing amber eyes contemplate the pair of angels.

Ammun speaks in the ancient tongue:

_The Angel Aziraphale has been captured by angels. We know not where he is, nor the location of the Demon Crowley._

_I will find them._

A long quarter of an hour passes. Finally Anubis speaks again.

_The Angel Aziraphale is at the junction between Heaven and Hell in London. I have placed myself alongside to guard him. And I have brought the Demon Crowley to him._

He steps forward, his formal costume vanishing and leaving him nude. He no longer wears his shadowy wolf head, his human face now completely revealed, eye sockets black as deepest space. Ammun morphs into a nude human male. Steps forward to embrace Anubis, kissing his shoulder and chest. Uriel taps her golden Apple watch.

_Adam. Anubis has located Aziraphale at Heaven & Hell’s Main Office Building in London and is guarding him. He has also found Crowley and brought him to Aziraphale. We will drive to London as soon as we can. Call Georgia and Pepper and tell them. I must go now._

She morphs into a beautiful nude woman, and joins Anubis and Ammun. It is after midnight before Ammun and Uriel depart for London in their delivery lorry.

* * *

Baku, Azerbaijan. In an electrical room beneath one of the Flame Towers. Crowley, Evgeny, and Bohdan are startled by the sudden appearance of an enormous black wolf. Evgeny has his gun out in less than a second. Crowley holds up a hand.

_Nyet. I know him._

To Bohdan’s and Evgeny’s surprise, the wolf speaks with a human voice, albeit in a language unknown to them.

Crowley drops the tools he’s holding and falls to his knees before the wolf, clutching the fur on its shoulders.

_No. No. No. _

He turns and pounds a fist on the floor, then both fists, then writhes like a snake with his hands clutching his hair, face contorted in rage. Finally gets control of himself and sits up on his heels.

_They’ve got Angel. I have to go._

_We can abort. But you of course can see this is a trap._

_Yes. _

Crowley muses for a moment.

_A trap for whom, that is the question. I can Send Bohdan. We know where he’ll turn up. You can get out by yourself?_

_Of course. Old stomping ground, as Americans say. I will meet you in London day after tomorrow._

Crowley had once Sent both Bohdan and Evgeny to get them out of a very sticky situation. That was when he discovered that humans got Sent to the place they love best. Bohdan wound up safely in the Triple S Security bunker in London, but Evgeny landed in his family’s former dacha outside Novosibirsk, where he had spent his childhood. It had taken days for Crowley to navigate there while Evgeny worked his way through the woods and dark alleys. It took a fortnight to get back to London, as they had to flee via Kazakhstan. A harrowing expedition; but it had cemented Crowley’s and Evgeny’s reliance upon one another’s talents.

_Let me get you out of the building, at least. No sense risking any alarm tripping or appearances on security cameras._

Crowley snaps his fingers and gestures upwards, and Bohdan vanishes. Several tense minutes later, the demon and Evgeny are outside and crossing a street into an area with trees. Evgeny casually slips off through the early night, displaying a practiced ability to disappear into the deepest areas of shadow. Crowley walks in the opposite direction. Finding an unlit spot beneath a group of three trees, he morphs into a large black snake. Anubis reappears in his tall human form, hoists the snake atop his shoulders, and vanishes.

* * *

London. Main Office Bulding escalator lobby. Demons of all ranks are milling about in a crowd of increasing density, the Disposable Demons posing in small groups before the new marble fountain and taking selfies, some with carefully positioned hands in irreverent positions against the statue in the background. 

The Twins are hovering at the top of the down escalator, which has been stopped. The only angels allowed on it are about a dozen security staff, flaming swords alight. The taller Twin mutters to the shorter:

_This is not right. Airing our dirty laundry before demons. What is Gabriel’s game?_

The shorter Twin shrugs and shakes her head, and they continue to watch the scene below in silence.

And then an enormous black snake appears atop the shoulders of the statue of Anubis. It gazes at the pool of water. Then stretches across the gap between the two statues and slowly and carefully coils itself around Aziraphale, the last three meters of its body and neck rising along the back of the statue, the neck contracted in a muscular curve atop the statue’s shoulder, poised as if to strike.

Aziraphale is in an absolute agony of fear. Surely Crowley knows that is Holy Water in the pool, that he is risking being extinguished into non-existence? Does Crowley think he is dead? Are they living a rendition of Shakespeare’s _Romeo and Juliet? _Is the Holy Water going to be Crowley’s _“Oh happy dagger”?_

And yet the snake’s warm massage of sliding polished scales and the delicate grip of its belly scales as it coils around his body is somehow soothing and reassuring. Crowley turns his python head and gazes down into the Angel’s upturned eyes. His forked tongue flicks out and daintily kisses the angel’s face, neck, shoulders . . . The heavy protective coils are so warm . . .

If Adam were present, he would have seen the angel’s and demon’s swirl of dark and rainbow auras flaring to fill the entire lobby. 

The crowd of demons has backed away and watches in silent vigil.


	37. A Seraph of the Presence

London. Early night. Lobby of Heaven & Hell Main Office Building. The lobby is now packed with demons, the crowd so dense that those on the edges have been pushed upward and are attached to the walls rather than standing on the floor. Only a wide perimeter around the pool of Holy Water is clear, all demons fearing even the slightest splash from it.

The Archangel Gabriel descends, gliding through the 12 security angels floating above the steps of the now stationary up escalator. The crowd of demons parts to let him through as he passes around Anubis’s extended paws and stands alongside the pool.

Beelzebub makes no such dramatic entrance, and simply pops into existence before Gabriel.

_Prince._

_Mezzenger Boy._

_I really prefer the title “Archangel,” you know._

_I am Beelzebul, ZZeraph of The Prezzenze, Prinzze of Hell. I will call you whatever pleazezzz me._

Gabriel glares at her, snaps his fingers in a downward gesture. The Holy Water pool now has a circle of fountain jets that play over the snake Crowley curled atop the marble statue of Aziraphale, who nearly dies inside from horror.

Nothing happens. Beelzebub turns her head and observes that the water is not even touching Crowley or the statue. Instead, the droplets are flowing into disappearance a couple of centimeters outside a shallow golden glow emanating from the golden star between the snake’s eyes. She returns her dead-eyed gaze back to a Gabriel, who now regards her with a surprised and puzzled expression. Obviously he was not expecting this result.

Shortly after the Holy Water Incident, Beelzebub had come to the conclusion that the only way Crowley would have survived such a bath was if he and Aziraphale had swapped bodies. It hadn’t been Crowley in that tub, it was the angel. Crowley had no special powers. He was still a demon, and could be permanently extinguished by Holy Water.

_The Demon Crowley izz mine. Yet you have tried to extinguishzz z him. _

Gabriel smirks.

_Just thought I’d do you a favor._

Beelzebub makes no reply. Magics her phone into her hand, taps it once, holds it before Gabriel as if taking his portrait video. Opens her mouth and blows a gout of fire over him, completely incinerating his beautiful cashmere clothes, leaving him completely bald and nude under a dark powdering of soot. She taps the phone, magics it back into storage. Then cries out, in a bellowing baritone that reverberates through the lobby:

_Demonzzz! Avaunt!_

Like steel ball bearings pouring from a bucket, the crowd of demons flows out through the main entrance or down the escalator to the basement. In less than 15 seconds, the lobby is completely clear. Only Crowley notices Beelzebub’s index finger give a slight flick. He and the statue vanish. Anubis vanishes a second later. 

Twelve angels with flaming swords are descending the escalator steps. TheTwins at the top have also drawn their swords.

Beelzebub throws out her arm in a gesture that sends a tornado of Hellfire over the fountain and pool, herself vanishing within a nanosecond, escaping the gigantic explosion that roars through the lobby, shattering windows, melting glass, cracking pillars, burning anything even remotely flammable, leaving the escalators twisted and skewed. Gabriel and all the angels are discorporated.


	38. Uriel the Spy

London. Wee hours of the night. Heaven & Hell Main Office Building. Uriel and Ammun have parked their lorry out back by the freight loading dock.

_Holy shit, what’s happened? The place looks like a kicked hornets’ nest._

_Let me go find out._

Uriel walks through the bustling crowd of freight and construction angels. As she approaches the freight entrance to the lobby, she waves her hand downward, changing her delivery staff uniform for her tailored linen suit and messenger bag. 

Entering the lobby, she is aghast at the destruction. Sees Dorri, the taller of The Twins, standing nearby.

_Dorri! What in The Almighty’s name has happened?_

_Holy Water and Hellfire explosion. _

Dorri recounts the sequence of events.

_. . . and I blame Gabriel for all of it. There was no need to expose one of our own to demonic mockery. I don’t care what dirty depravity Aziraphale might have been committing. _

Her face twists in stifled grief.

_And Aida was discorporated! Second time in less than a week! _

_What happened the first time?_

_Gabriel sent us to London to rendition Aziraphale for repentance and recovery. The demon Crowley discorporated us both somehow. He slipped behind us as we were messaging Aziraphale, and next thing we knew we were back in our office, discorporated. At least Michael didn’t make us go through that bureaucratic ass Quartermaster angel. She fast-tracked us both because we’re heads of Security. Aida and I were both restored mostly in the same form as before, but I don’t know what will happen this time around. The Almighty can be capricious. And speaking of Quartermaster, he’s become far too officious. My staff will be down by a dozen for several weeks thanks to his damned paperwork and procedures. We really need to do something about him._

_Do you know where Aziraphale is now? I was sent to Tadfield to monitor him, and came here to report that he’s been missing for three days. It would have been nice of you to inform me that you were coming to collect him._

_I’m sorry, Uriel. We didn’t know. We thought you’ve been on leave. Gabriel didn’t tell us you were on station there. What is his game? I don’t understand any of these actions. It’s not as if Aziraphale has been harming anyone. Hanging around with his demon boyfriend is nasty behavior, to be sure. But he and Crowley were never high-level players, so why give a damn what they’ve gotten up to? Why should Gabriel be concerned about poor little Aziraphale and his ridiculous shop of human artifacts?_

_Something deeper must be going on here. You say Anubis appeared. That can’t be anything other than ominous. And Crowley appeared as a demonic snake, not a demon. You said you think Beelzebub Sent Crowley and the statue? They weren’t destroyed in the explosion?_

_She burnt Gabriel and dispersed the demons. The statue and snake then disappeared, somehow. Beelzebub cast Hellfire over the fountain, and that was the last I remember. Michael says Gabriel says he didn’t Send them. And, while Anubis can be wherever he wants to be, I’m not aware that he has the power to Send others. So, the only conclusion is that Beelzebub did the Sending._

_I’ve never tried it, myself._

_No. It can go south in a hurry. No telling where the Sent will end up. Demons do it all the time, of course. They would. They don’t care about consequences. _

Dorri is silent for a long moment, then resumes.

_I can’t stop worrying that Aziraphale is now a statue in Hell. I don’t know how we could retrieve him. Michael is waiting for some backchannel reports to trickle in. We can only hope that Beelzebub could not control where she sent Aziraphale. _

_You don’t think he has officially Fallen into Damnation?_

_Let us pray not. It’s bad enough that the opposition seems to have scored against us right here in the Main Office Building. To lose an angel to them would be . . . unthinkable. _

Dorri looks up, and sees a familiar form approaching down the temporary wooden ramp atop the twisted escalator.

_Aida!_

The woman approaches and gives Dorri a hug.

_I’m a bit different, but mostly the same._

_Bit taller now. And you have Mongol eyes!_

_Do you like them?_

_They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful._

_If you two need a moment, I can be off._

_Oh no, Uriel. Stay. We’ve missed seeing you around. Although, considering what’s been going on around here lately, you might be best off to be stationed in a place like Tadfield._

Uriel reaches into her messenger bag.

_Here. An apple for each of you. One of the Tadfield specialties. Last of this year’s crop. I’ll bet you’ve never tasted one like these._

She pulls another out for herself, and takes a bite. The Twins are a bit nervous about being seen eating by lower level staff; but then they consider Uriel’s rank, and if she can do it, so can they.

_Mmmmmmmm . . . My goodness, these really are wonderful. Crisp. So sweet._

The three eat their apples completely, cores and all. Aida looks thoughtful.

_Isn’t Ammun in London?_

_I believe so._

_Will you be stopping to pay him a visit?_

_So there’s talk, is there?_

_No. Aida just thinks you fancy him. He is quite handsome._

Uriel smiles.

_I must be off. So nice to see you both again. Call me if you get tasked again with anything involving Aziraphale, would you? Rather embarrassing to show up to make a report and find out one is far behind the action. And here’s a tip for you both: try a hug without your clothes. I guarantee you’ll be surprised._

She turns and walks briskly back through the freight doorway.


	39. Marble

Tadfield. Early night. Back room of Aziraphale’s bookshop.

The marble statue of Aziraphale enveloped by Crowley the snake blinks into existence in the middle of the carpet. Anubis, in the form of a tall dark man, appears a second later. He watches as Crowley uncoils himself from the statue, glides to the floor, and morphs back into his human form. 

Crowley is a bit weak from the various transports through space, and staggers slightly. Anubis extends an arm to steady him. The demon reaches out his arms to clasp Anubis around his biceps. The jinni does the same to Crowley, and they regard one another for a long moment. Then Anubis says a few words in an ancient tongue:

_He is alive._

He gives Crowley a strong brotherly hug, and vanishes. Crowley can see in the dark, but the room feels like a tomb without the soft glow of Aziraphale’s reading lamps, so the demon magics them alight.

He turns to confront the statue. What did Anubis mean? Is Aziraphale conscious, or is he comatose? Or is only the statue here, and the angel is discorporated and still back at the Main Office? Can only Gabriel or The Almighty reincorporate Aziraphale, or can Adam do something? Adam won’t return to Tadfield for another 6 days. The demon’s face twists into a mask of grief, and he collapses like a pile of broken twigs, his arms around the statue’s ankles.

Sometime later Crowley bestirs himself and walks over to the liquor cabinet. Pulls out a bottle of scotch, seats himself back against the statue, magics the bottle open and takes a long swig. As he sits, he runs a hand through his hair several times, transforming the short dark haircut suitable to Azerbaijan back into red locks that fall down over his shoulder blades. Soon the empty bottle rolls off under the settee, but it hasn’t been enough to even begin to deaden Crowley’s pain. He crouches like a grieving gargoyle, arms around his shins and chin on his knee, hair falling over his shoulders. He wonders how he’ll get through the next 6 days.

Awhile later, his eyes now glowing a deep orange, he rises and walks around to the back of the statue. Notices the brutal metal transport cuff is still in place. With an angry snap of the fingers he vanishes it. Runs his fingers over and massages the indentations now visible in Aziraphale’s stony wrists, silent witnesses to the angel’s struggle, only set in white marble instead of purple bruises and abrasions. Caresses the angel’s unmoving hands and outstretched fingers. Runs his own warm hands up Aziraphale’s arms and rubs the outside of the shoulder joints. Crowley has been pinioned many, many times, and knows how it can ache.

He leans forward a bit, feeling the cold marble arms and hands pressing against his abdomen, and slowly plants kisses around the angel’s shoulders and neck . . . down his back . . . Extends his tongue and licks upward along the marble spine. Massages his hands over the angel’s back and shoulders. Aziraphale’s hair is now a mass of sharp stony points that Crowley cannot run his fingers through, so instead he extends his sinuous tongue and licks behind a marble ear.

Moving around to the front of the statue, he places his hands upon either side of the angel’s neck and steps nearer, then slowly and deliberately kisses every inch of the angel’s upturned face. A long tongue kiss to the partially opened marble lips. Caresses the angel’s chest. Rues the rough stony mass of chest hair. Runs his hands over the angel’s pectorals and fingers his nipples . . . down his ribs . . . over his belly, fingers softly circling and tickling the marble navel.

Crowley steps as close as he can and folds his arms around the angel in a tight embrace, feeling the icy marble against his hot body. Is tortured by the unyielding stone instead of Aziraphale’s soft and comforting flesh. He slowly sinks to his knees, hands stroking downward along the angel’s flanks and around to clutch his backside. Has to turn his head to avoid the rough stony mass of what was once frizzy platinum blonde bush. His long russet hair spilling down his shoulders and onto Aziraphale’s thigh, Crowley gives a tongue kiss to the angel’s shaft.

A scream of despair from the statue shatters the silence. Crowley feels the hard marble melt to cool soft flesh beneath his lips, and Aziraphale collapses on top of him.

The two writhe like wrestlers on the carpet, desperately clutching and twisting in their efforts to embrace one another. They end up partially under the settee, legs entangled, Crowley atop Aziraphale and clutching his ribs, the angel with one arm around the demon’s shoulders and the other grasping his long hair. They stiffen into the rigor of Divine Ecstasy, faces ecstatic. Crowley’s toes turn up.

* * *

Several hours later Ammun and Uriel drive slowly past the bookshop in their lorry.

_We should stop and look inside . . . Hold on. Do you see light?_

Uriel parks the lorry with the engine running and jumps out, runs off to the door and vanishes through it like smoke. Soundlessly flits to the back room. One glance, and she turns and slips back out of the building. Climbs back into the driver’s seat and fastens her seat belt; but before engaging the gear, she looks at Ammun as she taps the golden watch to call Adam.

_They’re back. _

* * *

_Mood music:_ _Erik Satie - Gnossiennes 1,2,3_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTi9czvLa-4>


	40. Speak of the Devil

Tadfield. Back room of Aziraphale’s bookshop. Feeling refreshed from their latest bout of Divine Ecstasy,* the angel and demon are seated in their comfort position on the Persian carpet in front of the angel’s armchair, holding hands, backs supported by the two giant pillows from the settee. 

_Crowley, why did you risk annihilation by Holy Water to coil yourself around me?*_

_Didn’t know it was Holy Water in the pool. Caught a clue, though, when I saw the crowd of demons keeping their distance. Then I . . . well . . . then I was scared shitless, as humans say._

_I thought I was going to die inside. I’ve never been so terrified. _

_Not even when Lucifer rose to punish Adam?_

_Not even close. The thought of eternity stretching ahead without you . . ._

Aziraphale’s breathing is coming in shallow gasps and he’s starting to shiver. Crowley writhes around and sprawls across the angel’s lap and chest, holding him by his shoulders.

_Aziraphale. Stop breathing. I’m here. _

He embraces Aziraphale and holds him close. Feeling the heat from Crowley’s body, the angel calms and stops breathing, but his face remains a portrait of pain, and his fingers are digging into Crowley’s back.

_Ow. Angel. Loosen up. I’m going to look like a bruised banana._

Aziraphale nuzzles Crowley’s neck and strokes a hand through the demon’s hair.

_That’s better. Do that some more. Pet me. . . . Yessss. . . . Like that._

Some time passes. Crowley reaches up and runs his hand through Aziraphale’s wooly hair, and the angel leans his head back against the pillow, his face now calm and softly smiling with pleasure.

_Crowley, my face was turned up, so I couldn’t see your snake body. But what I could see of your head and neck looked as if you were coated in golden light. A sort of body halo._

_Yeah. Weird. Never had anything like that happen before. Seemed to be what kept the Holy Water off me when that rat bastard Gabriel started the waterworks._

_The light was coming from that golden star on your cheek.* Only when you’re a snake, it’s on your forehead._

_Really._

_Yes._

The two sit silently, thinking over the implications. Crowley grins.

_Did you feel my snake peens?_

_You bet I did. And when your tongue tickled my face. Crowley, you are so utterly and completely awful._

The demon cackles.

_There we were, fucking in public, and nobody had a clue. Did you get hard, like, inside?_

_I certainly wanted to. But I was paralyzed and couldn’t. You felt wonderful coiled around me. I kept flipping from being terrified out of my mind and feeling ridiculously warm and secure. And lusty. It was insane._

_And then good old Beelzebub showed up and gave Gabriel a righteous spanking. Say what you like, she’s got the stuff. She’s the one who Sent us, you know. I saw her finger flick._

_Did she know we’d end up here?_

_No way. She was probably hoping we’d end up in a landfill or something._

They laugh.

There’s an old saying: “Speak of the Devil and he doth appear.”

Beelzebub and Anubis blink into existence before the couple. Beelzebub regards Crowley, lying across Aziraphale and embraced by the angel, for a very long moment. The air ripples with heat.

* * *

_*Crowley Gets a New Look: Tiger of the Jungle_

_*The Big One: Art Installation_

_*You Can Stay at My Place if You Like_


	41. Branded

Tadfield. Back room of Aziraphale’s bookshop. 

Beelzebub and Anubis blink into existence before the couple. Beelzebub regards Crowley, lying across Aziraphale and embraced by the angel, for a very long moment. The air ripples with heat.

Crowley morphs into a snake and glides off Aziraphale’s lap, rises up before Beelzebub, coiled and ready to strike.

Aziraphale stands and morphs into his formal Presence: ram’s head with outstretched horns, snowy chest ruff, gilded wings folded into an X behind his back. Only instead of the linen Egyptian shendyt of yore, he’s now attired in an indigo kendo uniform, sword in his belt, his right hand upon its handle, left upon its scabbard. He bows slightly to Beelzebub.

_Prince Beelzebub._

He turns to Anubis, who is wearing his full kit as the Egyptian wolf-headed god, and raises both hands to shoulder height, palms outward.

_Lord Anubis._

Anubis raises his hands in greeting. Aziraphale bows, returns his hands to his sword and his gaze to Beelzebub.

_Angel Aziraphale. Resume your human form and remove your garments and weapon. I will deliver a gift from Lord Lucifer to you. It will protect you from Hell Fire._

Crowley hisses, and Aziraphale catches the note of fear In his voice.

_Do it, Angel._

With a wave of his hand, Aziraphale resumes his nude human form.

_Approach._

Slowly, the angel walks up to the demon.

_Closer._

They’re now practically touching. Staring into Beelzebub’s dead psychopath’s eyes, Aziraphale can feel his testicles contract.

_Turn your back to me._

Aziraphale does so, and Beelzebub extends her right index finger, placing it upon a spot just above the angel’s tailbone. He shrieks in agony as a fiery shock courses through his body. It feels as if all his bones are on fire. He falls prone to the carpet and lies gasping in shock, although the pain ceased immediately as contact with Beelzebub’s hand was broken. A ruby mark is now upon his lower back.

Crowley has struck at Beelzebub; but with speed so quick it appears instantaneous, she has simply extended a hand and caught him about the neck, close under his python head. She makes a slight motion with the hand now released from Aziraphale, and Crowley ceases writhing, paralyzed into stillness.

_Ahhhh . . . Crowley. So pretty! My door is always open._

She slowly kisses him, then vanishes. Crowley, once again human, collapses into a heap, hair drooping over his shoulders and hiding his face. He struggles to his hands and knees, crawls over to Aziraphale, places a hand upon his shoulder. The angel turns to him and is aghast to see Crowley’s neck, chest, and lips covered in burns. Blisters and flaming red skin. Anubis is watching closely to see what the angel does.

_Crowley!_

Aziraphale has pulled himself up and is running fluttering hands over the demon’s burns, healing them. He lightly kisses Crowley’s forehead, gently strokes the side of his face, and breathes a blessing upon him. Crowley sits back somewhat unsteadily and they regard one another. 

Anubis leans over and extends his hands to both of them. They each clasp one of the jinni’s hands, and he pulls them upward into a standing position. Crowley leans into Aziraphale, his head upon the angel’s shoulder, arms around the angel’s waist. Aziraphale folds his arms around him and looks up into Anubis’s amber wolf eyes. The jinni holds up his right hand, palm vertical. Uncertain what to do, Aziraphale raises his own right arm and clasps the hand. Anubis’s heated grip closes tightly, then he vanishes.

Crowley sinks once again to the floor into a catatonic crouch - feet crossed, head upon his knees, arms folded protectively over his head. Aziraphale kneels next to him, puts an arm around the demon’s shoulder and his hand atop Crowley’s. Carefully extends his snowy wings and folds them around himself and Crowley, enclosing them in their own feathered shell.

* * *

Continued at _Pentangle_, Chapter 26 of _Crowley Gets A New Look. _

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/50539061>


	42. Surprises

Tadfield. Mid-morning. Madame Tracy’s Tea Shop. Crowley & Aziraphale are sitting at the table by the window. Only a few customers, at tables farther back in the room.

_What puzzles me, Crowley, is why Hell has decided to make me immune to Hell Fire. Wasn’t that watch of Adam’s booby-trapped with Hell Fire? If I had accidentally handled it, I wouldn’t be here chatting with you now._

_Been giving that some thought myself. That warning from the shade of Agnes Nutter* was indeed about you. But the Hell Fire feature may simply have been a deterrent in case anyone non-Demonic tried to wear the watch. Bit over the top, but Hell thinks along those lines. Doubtful they were trying to deliberately target and eliminate you. We’re small fry._

_And yet, Beelzebub herself recruited Anubis to find me. Small fry don’t get satanic gifts dropped onto them by the Prince of Hell._

_That reminds me. Have been meaning to tell you. Good thing you heeded me about obeying Prince B. If you hadn’t promptly done exactly what she demanded, she’d have enjoyed making you comply. Has some inventive ways of getting her points across. Don’t ever forget that. Prince B will not be disobeyed. Ever. Defiance just prolongs the agony. But to get back to our topic, it’s not us she’s after. We’re just the bait. _

_Bait? For what?_

_Who. Gabriel and Michael. Do you really think Gabriel took a notion to send The Twins after you all on his own? Ignores you for two years, lets Uriel bumble around London trying to find you, then suddenly decides it’s time to bring you back in on some thin excuse, no waiting?_

_You’re right. That doesn’t make much sense. But then, upper echelon decisions have never made much sense to me._

Crowley continues:

_I think Beelzebub somehow insinuated to Gabriel that she wanted me back in Hell, and that you would be the perfect bait to trap me with. That little prank Adam and I played upon him was probably extra motivational sauce for setting me up to have my tail twisted._

_He seems to have suspected that you were still vulnerable to Holy Water. _

_Guessing he thought he was being clever, thwarting the Prince of Hell and destroying her prize. Beelzebub is smart enough to have figured out that we’d swapped bodies. But Gabriel? Nuh-uh. I’ll bet Michael is, though._

Aziraphale thinks back to how Gabriel thought Sandalphon’s comment about War was just so clever.

_Michael. The eminence grise in Gabriel’s command structure, do you think?_

_You’d know better than I._

_Not really. Head Office always seemed more concerned about my getting miracle expense sheets and compliance reports turned in on time. I didn’t get called upstairs much. Uriel would know, though. We should ask her._

_That reminds me. We need a ride back to London. The Bentley is parked at my business office. We’ve been working on making it self-driving with a Waymo app, but the equipment is still too bulky._

Aziraphale is thinking, _“Waymo ap? What’s that?”_ as Crowley gets out his phone.

_Call Uriel. . . . Uriel. Angel and I need a ride to London. . . . Really? . . . Well, well, well. You don’t say. . . . We’re at Madam Tracy’s right now. See you soon? . . . Right._

Stows his phone and grins at Aziraphale.

_I won’t ruin Uriel and Ammun’s surprise. They’ll be here in about twenty minutes._

DeeDee emerges from behind the counter and timidly approaches the pair.

_Demon Crowley. Can you tell me something?_

_Depends, kid. What do you want to know?_

_Can I morph into male? I don’t know how, and I’m afraid to try all by myself. We Disposable Demons don’t have a lot of power._

_Tell me why you need to do this._

_I don’t need to. I just want to. I think Wensleydale would like me better if I were a boy. Girls seem to make him anxious._

_Doubtful Madame Tracy wants a teenage boy infesting her home._

_Well that’s just it. I want to be able to switch back and forth. A girl when I’m with Madame Tracy, but a boy when I’m with Wensleydale. _

Crowley regards DeeDee. Aziraphale regards Crowley. Crowley extends his hand to DeeDee.

_Hold my hand, kid. I won’t let you draw too much power and fry._

DeeDee cautiously takes the demon’s hand with all the enthusiasm of petting something likely to snap and bite.

_Now think about yourself as male._

And DeeDee is now a teenage boy. Who looks pretty much the same as her teenage girl form – slight, freckled, frizzy hair, pert expression. A bit taller, more defined facial bones, bit of peach fuzz, boy wrists and hands. Her hoodie, jeans, and sneakers fit about as well as before. She pats her crotch, looks up at Crowley.

_I did it!_

_See if you can find the pathway back._

And she’s once again a girl.

Crowley releases her hand. 

_See if you’ve got the stuff to do it on your own._

She does. Does one more transform and back. Grins delightedly and bows to Crowley.

_Thank you, Demon Crowley!_

_Bring me another cappuccino? _

_Right away!_

She skips off back to the counter.

_Crowley, do you think that’s wise?_

_Probably not. But who are we to say?_

_Point taken._

* * *

_*Chapters 10 & 11_


	43. Another Art Installation

Tadfield. Mid-morning. Madame Tracy’s Tea Shop. Crowley & Aziraphale are sitting at the table by the window. Only a few customers, at tables farther back in the room. DeeDee brings Crowley the cappuccino he’s requested. 

_Hang on, DeeDee. Let’s see your phone. _

DeeDee fishes out her phone, lets it scan her to unlock, hands it to Crowley, who scrolls through the handful of contacts until he finds the one he’s looking for and points to it. 

_Anything you send to this contact, you send to no one else, right?_

_Yes, Demon Crowley. I would be discorporated if I did. Never get back to Earth again!_

_You’re dead right, the consequences would be severe. I’ll get you a more secure phone for everyday use. You can save this one for those special reports. Get rid of any other contacts on it._

Crowley, having memorized That Special Contact, returns DeeDee’s phone. She turns to dash off back behind the counter, but then stops and moves back close to Crowley as Uriel and Ammun enter and seat themselves opposite the demon and angel. 

_‘Lo, Aziraphale. ‘Lo, Crowley._

They regard the little demon. 

_You’re the Disposable Demon, right?_

She nods apprehensively. Crowley growls, 

_We call her DeeDee. DeeDee, meet the angels Uriel and Ammun. Don’t worry, DeeDee, they won’t smite you. Go back to your counter._

She scampers off. The two angels watch her go, and then return their gazes to Crowley. Uriel speaks first. 

_Crowley, did you really discorporate The Twins?_

_For all the good it did._

_You two haven’t heard what went on after you got back to the bookshop, have you? Your phone kept going to voicemail, Crowley. Have you checked it at all?_

_Nuh uh. So what happened?_

_The lobby of the Main Office has been totally wrecked. I went in and had a chat with the Twin Dorri. She told me about Aziraphale being turned into a statue and displayed in the lobby in a Holy Water fountain. That Anubis appeared as a huge black stone jackal beside your statue, Aziraphale. That must have given Security a nasty shock! And then you showed up as a giant snake, Crowley, and coiled around Aziraphale’s statue. You saw Gabriel and Beelzebub appear and have some sort of argument? Beelzebub torched Gabriel, right? . . . At that point, Dorri said you two and Anubis disappeared. Did you get Sent to the bookshop?_

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale answers, so Uriel continues. 

_Well, to go on. Beelzebub cleared the lobby of demons. Then she cast Hell Fire onto the Holy Water fountain, and blew up the entire lobby. Gabriel, the Twin Aida, and a dozen security angels were discorporated. The damage was incredible. I expect the whole building shook. Dorri disapproved of all of it, blamed Gabriel for the disaster and the loss of her twin and a dozen of her staff. Fortunately for her, Twin Aida was promptly reincorporated in mostly the same shape, and showed up as Dorri and I were talking. But you’re not going to believe what happened to Gabriel. This morning Ammun and I got a dispatch call to do a lorry delivery. To Tadfield. _

Seeing their expressions, she pauses, takes a breath, continues. 

_There was a large wooden crate waiting on the dock when we arrived. I asked what was in it. One of the freight angels showed me his phone. A picture of a life-sized golden winged statue. With the face of Gabriel. Here, take a look. _

She shows her phone around. 

_Looks like some sort of Art Deco piece, doesn’t it, Aziraphale? Do you think it’s him?_

_The face does looks like him. If it is indeed him reincorporated into a statue the same as he did to me, he’ll be able to see, hear, and feel everything. But he will be completely paralyzed._

_Good Lord, Aziraphale. You were conscious the whole time you were a statue?_

_Yes._

There is a long moment of silence as Uriel and Ammun process this. Ammun says quietly: 

_How did you transform out of the statue, Aziraphale?_

Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley answers. Crowley murmurs, 

_In Hell, only Lucifer and Beelzebub have the power to reincorporate. Who does it in Heaven?_

_Gabriel. And The Almighty._

_So it seems The Almighty reincorporated Gabriel as a golden statue?_

_Must be. _

The four spend another long moment considering the implications of this. Uriel speaks first. 

_We were instructed to deliver the crate to the parish hall of St. Cecil’s and All Angels. When we arrived, there was a crew of humans already assembled to unload and install the statue in the hall. Someone with some serious organizational strength is obviously behind this, and I’m guessing you know who._

_Michael._

_Undoubtedly. She cracks the whip, things happen. If The Almighty really has reincorporated Gabriel as a statue, guessing Michael wouldn’t want it around in the executive suite while she takes over. Even if she doesn’t know that it might be watching, listening. Too embarrassing to the organization, visitors seeing it on view and drawing The Almighty knows what conclusions. So she shipped it . . . him . . . off here. I’ll have to touch base with The Twins to see what story Michael’s feeding everyone. Should be interesting._

Crowley murmurs:

_Why Tadfield?_

The four consider this for yet another long moment. Crowley continues:

_For protection? Or a set-up? The parish hall isn’t consecrated ground._

More uneasiness all around. Uriel resumes:

_Well. At any rate, Ammun and I didn’t stick around once the crew brought the pieces of packing crate back to the truck. Didn’t want to be recognized in case some angels who know us showed up and blew our delivery service cover. But obviously, you and Crowley must go have a look, Aziraphale. The vicar was just arriving as we left._

_What if Michael shows up?_

_She won’t. Not her style. She sets things in motion, and if anyone screws up, they empty wastebaskets and mop floors for the next hundred years. We’ll drop you off and wait in the far parking lot for you, then take you to London. Sound all right?_

_Yep. Sounds like a plan. Angel, I see DeeDee has just brought out a tray of éclairs. Shall we have some boxed to go? Uriel? Ammun? You’d each like one as well?_

The four angels depart, Crowley carrying a box of eclairs. He’s the last out the door. Turns briefly and makes eye contact with DeeDee. Gives a brief jerk of his head. She nods. Once the lorry has departed, she exits the shop, hops on her bike, and pedals furiously away.


	44. Salsa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We dance to some Ed Sheeran tunes in this one.

[ ](https://imgur.com/WtX4Jr3)

Tadfield. The far parking lot of St. Cecil’s parish hall. Uriel and Ammun open the lorry freight doors, revealing Aziraphale and Crowley in their kilts. Crowley hops down. Aziraphale carefully crouches on the ledge, and Crowley lifts him off and down. Hand In hand, they stroll off toward the hall entrance, Crowley carrying his box of eclairs. Uriel and Ammun exchange glances, return to the cab to wait. Mr. Pickersgill the vicar starts in surprise as the two enter the hall, then goes over to greet them. 

_Why, Mr. Aziraphale and Mr. Crowley. What a pleasure to see you both! You’re the first to view this sculpture exhibit that has been leant to our small parish._

_My word, what an extraordinary piece. _

_Yes indeed, Mr. Fell. It is on loan to us for 30 days. The presenters originally suggested an alcove in the church, but I think you can see how it would be unsuitable there._

_Yes. A very showy Art Deco piece, not at all in keeping with the historic ambience of St. Cecil’s._

_And the nudity, of course._

_Hmm. What does it represent, exactly? Seems to have a sort of aviation theme._

_I’m told it’s the Archangel Gabriel, an adaptation of a statue from the 1920s that was created to represent the spirit of flight._

_That would explain the propeller-like wings and the aviator’s cap. Handsome face. Who are the donors?_

_A group called the Organization for Transformative Works. Apparently they do charitable religious art exhibits around the country. It came with an extremely handsome monetary donation to St. Cecil’s. I could scarcely refuse. It will enable us to have our old organ completely refurbished, with funds left over to deal with our ongoing roofing problems._

_30 days, eh?_

_Yes. It will be here for our annual pre-Advent Christmas Bazaar that we’ll be holding on the Saturday three weeks hence._

_Might well be an attendance draw, once word gets out._

_I suspect so. We may have to provide some festive drapery for the event. The sensibilities of many of our parishioners are a bit old-fashioned._

_Well, the original design is almost 100 years old. One would think that would be sufficient time for Victorian attitudes to adjust._

_Alas, Mr. Fell, prudery and self-righteousness persist throughout any age. There are many who consider themselves virtuous if they follow imaginary rules. Our Saviour is quite clear, however, that love and kindness are what we must strive for._

The three gaze in silence before the statue. Then Crowley opens his box of eclairs. 

_Here. Vicar, Aziraphale, have an éclair._

_They do look tempting, Mr. Crowley. But I’m expected at an Altar Society luncheon in about two hours, so perhaps I should refrain._

_They’re from Madame Tracy’s, Mr. Pickersgill. She doesn’t make them often. If you’ve had them before, you know they are not to be missed._

_Oh dear. You have just now cracked my resolve. Madame Tracy is an extraordinary baker, no doubt about it. Thank you, Mr. Crowley, I will indeed be happy to enjoy one of her eclairs._

Crowley holds Aziraphale’s éclair before the angel’s mouth and lets him take a big bite before handing it to him. The three munch their pastries, Crowley all the while locking eyes with the statue, opening his mouth wide and taking vaguely obscene pleasure from large bites and licking chocolate frosting and cream from his lips with his long supple tongue. The delicious éclair does not distract him from scenting a temptation possibility. 

_Sad, Mr. Shadwell’s passing, eh? So sudden and unexpected. Madame Tracy was quite attached to him. They were old friends in London, you know. After many years, he finally popped the question. They retired to Tadfield together. No doubt she is feeling terribly lonely and sad now that he is gone. _

_Yes. I’ve been a widower myself for 15 years now. One does often long for a companion, despite the memory of one’s beloved._

Aziraphale turns to look intently at Crowley, who calmly smiles as he continues to gaze at the statue, licking some last bits of frosting from his fingers. He turns to Aziraphale, raises his eyebrows. 

_Sorry. Should have thought to bring some paper serviettes._

_Mr. Fell, I understand your niece is presently staying with Madame Tracy and assisting her in the shop?_

_Yes indeed. They seem to be getting on quite well. DeeDee is an industrious little worker. She seems to have joined that group of teens who like to hang around in my shop and Madame Tracy’s. Pepper, Wensleydale, Brian, and Adam._

Mr. Pickersgill laughs. 

_Ah yes. A lively little group. And likely to have some hand in whatever commotion is roiling the more starchy residents of our village. _

Crowley murmurs, 

_DeeDee is an orphan, you know. If she and Madame Tracy get along with one another, I suspect that can only be to their mutual benefit._

Aziraphale, meanwhile, is processing the mind movie of a happy trio consisting of a lonely aging vicar, a former sex worker and medium, and a teen demon living together. The wily Crowley continues : 

_Speaking of these particular teens, Mr. Pickersgill, that reminds me. They wanted me to inquire of you if they could do a short dance performance to entertain the Christmas bazaar attendees. Something about angels doing a gavotte. _

_Indeed? That could be an amusing change from sulky children blowing horns and singing off key at other children dressed as shepherds. We actually have a supply of costume angel wings in our storage for these annual Christmas tableaux. The gowns are a bit tatty, unfortunately. And sized for ten-year-olds._

_The hall has a sound system, does it not?_

_An old one that could use a bit of an upgrade, but yes, we do have such a system._

_Would you show it to us? The disk jockey at the next week’s Halloween Ball is an acquaintance of mine. Perhaps I could have him take a look at the hall system to suggest what might be the most effective new equipment to install. And I’d be happy to fund any such upgrade. That goes without saying._

_Why, Mr. Crowley. That is a most generous offer._

_I believe in supporting the activities of our local youth._

Mr. Pickersgill shows them the closet containing a dusty tangle of equipment, points out the speakers suspended in various ceiling locations. Crowley magics a connector into his hand, pretends to pick it up from a nearby pile of cords, and attaches his phone to the amplifier. 

_Let’s see how it sounds._

A Handel gavotte tinkles through the hall. 

_Definitely could use an upgrade. With your permission, Mr. Pickersgill, we’ll get something better installed and working before the bazaar_

_Thank you, Mr. Crowley. I cannot express how grateful I am for your philanthropy. _(Looks at his watch)_ Alas, now I must reluctantly excuse myself, as I have to prepare for that luncheon. _

_I’d like to stay on a bit and make some notes and photos of what equipment you have here, Mr. Pickersgill. We can let ourselves out very shortly. _

_Yes, Mr. Crowley. I’ll be off then. I trust you two to not run riot in the hall, haha. I’ll lock the doors, so they’ll lock automatically after you exit. And again, I thank you most sincerely for your support._

Mr. Pickersgill leaves. Crowley turns to Aziraphale, a distinctly snaky smile now adorning his face. 

_Think Gabriel would enjoy a bit of salsa dance, Angel?_

He peeps out a window, sees the vicar driving off. Also, unseen by Aziraphale, locks eyes with a small freckled face lurking in a dark corner. He cues his phone to begin a new piece of music in one minute. The two walk over to the large open space before Gabriel’s statue. Crowley magics his upper clothing off onto a chair along one of the walls, smirks at the statue. 

_More like when we practice._

They stand facing close together. The plonking introductory notes of Ed Sheehan’s _Shape of You _reverberate, then a bass beat that Crowley has ramped up a bit from the Handel gavotte. Soon the pair are swinging to the Daniel Rosas salsa choreography they found on YouTube, eyes locked together in Crowley’s smoldering and Aziraphale’s delighted gazes. The one and only angel who likes to dance, and the only demon who can dance with serpentine grace. After the final draped embrace, they hold hands and turn their backs to Gabriel as if to walk away. Crowley vanishes his kilt and puts Aziraphale’s hand upon his taut bare backside. The angel doesn’t miss the opportunity for an affectionate caress. Crowley’s arm around the angel’s shoulder, a nice juicy kiss on the lips, and they skip off into the dim light. Crowley magics his apparel back on, his phone back into his pocket, and the box of eclairs into his hand just before they go through the doors. 

The hall air is permeated by the lingering odors of woodsmoke and a pungent musky animal smell. 

A small demon taps her phone to end the video recording. Sends it to That Special Contact. Vanishes through the wall, gets on her bike, and pedals back to Madame Tracy’s.

* * *

_SHAPE OF YOU_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jH6TbgHoHMQ>

_I'm in love with the shape of you_

_We push and pull like a magnet do_

_Although my heart is falling, too_

_I'm in love with your body_

Crowley gets_ s_naky starting at about 1:15

Crowley and Aziraphale are also practicing “I Don’t Care”, having a spot of trouble because all the spins make the angel a bit dizzy. But they’ll get there, amirite?

_I DON’T CARE_

_Coz I don’t care when I’m with my baby yeah_

_All the bad things disappear_

_And you making me feel that maybe I am somebody_

_I can deal with the bad nights when I’m with my baby yeah (ooh, ooh, ooh)_

_Coz I don’t care_

_As long as you just hold me near _

_You can take me anywhere and you making me feel like I’m loved by somebody_

_I can deal with the bad nights when I’m with my baby yeah_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ks9Bbekirg>


	45. Lorry Ride

Inside the cab of a lorry traveling to London. Ammun is driving this time. He glances briefly at Uriel as he speaks.

_What do you suppose those two got up to in the hall after the vicar left?_

_What worries me is the kid on the bike. DeeDee. The little demon. You saw her stick out her tongue at us, right?_

_She seems to share your talent for walking through walls._

_And according to Adam, she put it to good use when the humans were trying to get into Aziraphale’s bookshop._

_Helping rescue an angel. Not exactly something you’d expect a demon to do, now is it? _

_No. I can’t figure it out. What side is she on? _

_Hell’s, of course. Think about it. You’re a menial demon and you find yourself outside of Hell – maybe for the first time – and in the company of a powerful seraph. Must be intoxicating._

_Crowley? Powerful? _

_You remember what I told you about Beelzebub warning me off Adam and Crowley? She considers Crowley to be our young Antichrist’s protector. You wouldn’t assign some schmo to that sort of task._

_Beelzebub certainly made that point clear to the Heavenly Host. Gabriel in particular._

_I think Crowley has the stuff, he just doesn’t use it. Not the way Beelzebub would like him to, at least. Has his own notions. Seraphim are proud bastards, right down to their celestial marrow._

Something has been bothering Uriel.

_Were Crowley and Anubis lovers?_

_No. He’s more like Anubis’s sidekick, his wing man. Literally. You’ve seen Crowley’s demonic wings, right?_

_Just a sort of shadowy outline. _

_Saw the claws?_

_Oh lord._

_Yeah. Aziraphale’s demon lover. _

_I continue to think we underestimated Aziraphale, as well as his boyfriend in dark glasses. _

The two angels are silent for a long while.

_Do you suppose they’re holding hands back there?_

_We could check the trailer cam and find out._

_No way. Absolutely not._

_Right._

* * *

In the lorry trailer. Crowley and Aziraphale are sitting alongside one another in the center of the padded wall closest the cab, holding hands. Aziraphale is looking a bit peaky after encountering Gabriel as a statue, fresh from doing time in such a terrible prison himself. Crowley is stowing his phone, having completed a terse call to Evgeny. He regards the angel.

[interlude continued as Chapter 28 in Crowley Gets a New Look] 

About an hour later.

The lorry parks, the engine idling. Uriel and Ammun debark and go around the back to open the freight doors. The lovers disengage. Crowley morphs to male, and they adjust their kilts and sporrans. Aziraphale regards Crowley, murmurs:

_Thank you, my dear. I needed that._

* * *

Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Crowley is checking on his interior jungle. The automatic watering and misting system seems to have been functioning as advertised – the plants all look glossy and lush. He gives them the hairy eyeball nonetheless while doing a touchup with the plant mister. They all stand tight and erect as if they’re full to bursting with sap. Only when Aziraphale enters do their leaves imperceptibly relax. 

The angel has exchanged his clothes for his lavender plaid flannel dressing gown with the gold silk velvet lining, a garment that looks comfortable enough to hibernate in. Crowley puts down the plant mister, places an arm around Aziraphale’s waist, gives him a kiss as they proceed to the lounge.

Aziraphale curls up on the couch as Crowley fetches a bottle from the liquor cabinet, pours the angel a glass of scotch and places the bottle on the end table.

_I’ll have to go public transport to get to where the Bentley’s parked, may be hours before I can get back. Here’s a new phone, let’s set it up to recognize you. _

A few minutes pass while they enable the phone. Aziraphale still hasn’t quite overcome his tendency to view cell phones as the work of the devil, so Crowley always makes sure the angel won’t be stymied whenever he has to learn to use a different model.

_Hold it in front of your face until it recognizes you and unlocks, then say “Call Crowley.” Or “Call Adam,” of course, if for some reason I can’t answer. Try it right now._

Aziraphale nods, successfully rings Crowley’s phone, taps to disconnect, places the phone on the end table, and takes a large drink of scotch.

_Ah. Talisker_

_Yep. Prefer something different?_

_Oh no. It’s really my favorite._

_Mine, too. There’s another bottle, try to save me some for when I get back, all right?_

_Really, my dear._

_You can magic something from your bookstore to read, right?_

_Yes. _

A Wilde first edition appears in Aziraphale’s hand. His third-best one.

Crowley waves his hand upward and changes into a sort of upscale black hoodie-jeans-boots-beanie look. Leans over and gives Aziraphale a kiss, takes a sip of his scotch, and trots out the door. 

As he works his way from one public transport to another, his clothing gradually becomes more worn and soiled and the boots become grimy trainers. By the time he gets off the bus in his destination suburb, he looks like an alcoholic in need of a drink and a shave, his red hair tucked up under his beanie with just a few strands straggling loose. Slopes along the sidewalk, employing the usual procedures to check for followers and avoid attracting any attention from locals. Creeps into an alley full of bins, finds an unobtrusive and dirty metal door scribbled with old tags, magicks the lock open and slips inside a parking garage, then works his way into the lift leading to Evgeny’s office.


	46. Liverwurst

Triple S Security, inside a nondescript building in a nondescript London suburb. 

Crowley walks into Evgeny’s office, now wearing the designer “street” outfit he started out in. Takes off his beanie as Evgeny rises from behind his desk. The two men give one another a firm handshake. Crowley rolls an executive office chair around the desk so he’s seated alongside Evgeny. Evgeny meanwhile has noted Crowley’s overall demeanor and reached into a drawer to pull out a bottle of vodka and two tall little glasses. Pours a glass for Crowley and hands it to him. Crowley downs it in one go. They converse in Russian.

_Thanks. It was bad. I moved Angel to Tadfield to avoid something like this happening. But they came and got him anyway. Right inside his bookshop. Tried to kill me as well._

Crowley hunches over and sits with his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. Evgeny waits silently until the demon pulls himself back together and finally slumps back in his chair.

_I don’t know what to do. We can’t let operations get messed up because someone’s attacking me through Angel._

_We knew this would happen eventually. Now it is here. We go small for a while. We have enough to coast. Bohdan has many things he wants to play with. Cracks to explore. Network recruiting, always. The Albanians are making themselves plump targets, and they’re right on our doorstep. _

_Would you believe, my old boss showed up and saved our asses? Then came round later and roughed up Angel, but also left him with protective shielding from Hell Fire. I don’t get it. She evidently thinks I’m still employed. Which means she’ll ream my ass if she thinks I’m screwing up. Instead of just ignoring me. I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t scare my fucking nuts off._

This time Crowley crosses an ankle over a knee, holding onto his shin with both hands, manages to stop himself from rocking back and forth.

Evgeny has seen some shit, knows precisely the sorts of things that would terrify even someone as remorseless as Crowley.

_Get out of London for a few days. Holiday. We’ll do escort out, make sure you’re not followed. Need some kush? _

_No. Wanna stay sharp. _

_Good. We have one small problem right now, I think you can help. Come with me, I’ll show._

Evgeny changes into a greasy pea coat, grimy canvas trousers, worn workman’s boots, dockworker’s hat. In the lift down, Crowley morphs back into his addled alcoholic look. They work their way through the parking garage to an exit a few blocks away, then amble several blocks to a small caff. Run by one of Evgeny’s “friends,” it’s been their hangout for years. The owner sees them enter, immediately ladles out two bowls of borscht with a generous dollop of sour cream. Cuts two slices from a large round loaf of dark rye bread, over which she places thick slabs of liverwurst topped by crisp stalks of green onions. She carries the bowls and plates over, locks eyes with Evgeny, then Crowley, as she silently sets the dishes and spoons on the battered formica table. A flick of her eyes in the direction of two dark young men sitting on the other side of the small room. Crowley and Evgeny acknowledge the warning, which confirms the assessment they made upon entering.

Crowley puts an elbow on the table, wrapping an arm around his dishes like a peasant, and begins wolfing as if he hasn’t eaten a decent meal in weeks. The two silently consume their food, then Crowley walks to the counter as if to pay, two fifty pound notes concealed inside the grimy and crumpled ten and twenty he has fished out of a jeans pocket. Points to a piroshky in the glass counter, which the owner places in a small white takeout bag. Then she pretends to make small change, hands Crowley a few small notes and coins. 

The two young men meanwhile have refilled their tea from the samovar and continue to loaf and chat as if they own the place, treating Evgeny and Crowley to insolent stares as the two men shamble toward the exit. Crowley and Evgeny gaze back, and are gratified to see a momentary flash of alarm in the two faces, which the pair attempt to cover by turning and pretending to resume their conversation. One of them considers muttering, _“Faggot tweakers!”_ but thinks better of it, those two dead-eyed psychopath stares still chilling his retinas.

* * *

Back in Evgeny’s office. Evgeny pours them each a glass of vodka.

_She must move. No longer safe here. Has kid._

_How soon?_

_Soon. First of month. _

_That’s only a week away. Where to?_

_Your department. She says not London. Country._

_How about around Oxford? Lots of uni students in need of hearty food, cheap._

_Too many princelings. She could be recognized._

_Not a lot of biz in Tadfield. _

_She does not require much business. Just prefers to keep busy._

_There are a couple of possibilities. Would certainly make me happy to have a supply of borsch and liverwurst sandwiches close by. And piroshky. Angel loves them. I can arrange a work crew and lorry to move belongings. Tell her just best things like the samovar, no need for old kitchen equipment. Start packing now, in case we need to move quickly._

Evgeny reaches into his jacket, pulls out his cell, makes a call, speaking in a Ukrainian dialect. Disconnects, nods his head at Crowley. Pours another two glasses.

_Let us toast, my brother._

* * *

A rundown London suburb. A vintage Bentley snakes slowly along the streets, keeping just out of sight of a black Mercedes ahead, assisted by the GPS tracker magicked into place behind the vehicle’s glovebox. The Mercedes stops at a long light at a busy arterial. When the light changes and the car is halfway through the intersection, the occupants are chagrined to discover that all four tires have gone flat. Pulling across and parking illegally along a double-striped curb, they get out and discover the tires have been thoroughly shredded. And that a large fluorescent Day-glo red serpentine tag is now painted on the boot.

The tracker is a proprietary design that can be remotely turned off and on to evade bug detectors. Crowley turns it off, calls Evgeny, and speeds up to continue his cruise homeward at 90mph, traffic unwillingly permitting.

_Heigh ho, _says Anthony Crowley.


	47. Transformation

Hell. Beelzebub’s “My Door Is Always Open” office. The door may indeed be always open, but heat waves shimmer from the jambs, ready to fry incautious minions.

Beelzebub contemplates the phone on her ebony desk, which she has propped there to prevent her hand melting it from fury as she viewed the video report from the Tadfield Disposable Demon. She swipes and replays the video, pauses it when Crowley’s bare backside appears.

She recollects the Disposable Demon’s report about that snaky little bastard doing the mare for the angel’s stallion. Suffering Satan’s sins. Divine Bliss. With an angel. She allows herself a brief happy moment to contemplate thoroughly and painfully rogering Crowley as in the good old days. 

Back before she got reincorporated as a hideous little black fly. 

She snarls, recollecting the image of Crowley in the angel’s arms when she was sent to deliver Lucifer’s tit-for-tat amulet. It was infuriating to see Crowley enjoying caresses and comfort. Nice that the little snake had lost control and attacked her. She’d enjoyed toasting him a bit.

Her face then changes to unholy satisfaction as she contemplates the real role the video will play in her report to Lucifer. Gabriel fell right into the trap. She notices she’s twisting her fingers together in glee, and stops. 30 days paralyzed as a statue. On Earth, no less, on display to humans. Doesn’t begin to compare to the millennia she and Lucifer have been forced to endure their beautiful bodies turned to marble, separate and untouchable by one another. And of course that fool Gabriel has kept Divine Ecstasy from the minds of the Heavenly Host, nor does he partake of Earthly delights, so it’s unlikely he’s feeling much of the torment of loss. But the haughty bastard has been disgraced, and is at least getting a taste of The Almighty’s punishment. Thus, a victory. 

She contemplates with satisfaction the wreck of the H&H Main Office lobby that the angels are now forced to repair. Gabriel might have instigated that little skirmish, but Hell took the hill.

* * *

The chamber of the Dark Council, Pandemonium, Hell. The room is empty and echoing save for Lucifer fettered on his throne as a marble statue of his original beautiful male form, and Beelzebub in her Napoleonic garb as Prince of Hell. Beelzebub has just shown him the video of the St. Cecil’s parish hall events.

_Beloved. Your entrapment of Gabriel succeeded. Well done._

_Lord. Thank you._

_You discovered the secret of The Almighty’s brand upon our Demon Crowley, and delivered a similar mark to the angel Aziraphale. So we are now even with The Almighty on that score. Again, well done._

_Lord, I live to please you. As to Demon Crowley and the angel experiencing Divine Ecstasy, that now seems certain. We have an eyewitness account from a demon stationed in Tadfield who saw Crowley allowing the angel to penetrate him. Without pain. And Crowley has been receiving comfort from the angel. With my own eyes I saw him reclined in the angel’s arms._

Beelzebub cannot suppress her rage and jealousy another second. She completely loses control, screams as she flings herself upon Lucifer’s statue. And discorporates in a flash, like a mosquito in a bug zapper. Her translucent discorporated self, a beautiful young man, writhes in agony below on the dais, weeping bitterly.

Lucifer’s grief over the fate of his beloved is bottomless. Curse The Almighty. Curse himself. Will there ever be release? His sin is Pride, for which there is no forgiveness. He’ll never apologize to The Almighty. He only asked questions. 

_Beloved. We are confronting The Ineffable Plan. The uncertainty is infinite. Nonetheless, it is curious how Demon Crowley and the angel have been outmaneuvering both Heaven and Hell, and yet have not been punished by The Almighty. _

_Demon Crowley is a Seraph. One of us. We are already being punished by The Almighty._

_And yet, after the failure of Armageddon, when we tried to extinguish them, she rebuked us with a directive that they are to be left to themselves. And she gave Demon Crowley that protective shield against Holy Water. Probably right now congratulating herself that I took the hint about a similar shield for the angel._

_Gabriel tried to circumvent The Almighty’s directive. It is he who is now being punished. _

_There is something different about those two. Demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale. Something of which The Almighty approves. _

_Lord, I find it difficult to conceive of anything about either Demon Crowley or the angel of which anyone would approve. They are both deceitful, bumbling, slackers. _

_And yet they derailed Armageddon. And have rallied to my son. And are partaking of Divine Bliss. As you noted, Demon Crowley is a Seraph. We perhaps have been unwise to regard him as insignificant._

Beelzebub has stopped sobbing and pulled himself somewhat unsteadily upright, undaunted in his determination to serve Lucifer. His unincorporated shade wobbles at the edges.

_Lord, we know that Michael is the power behind that ass Gabriel. Allow me to suggest we continue to keep Crowley on a loose tether. Provide him with whatever protection we can for him and his angel. We comply with The Almighty’s directive, in contrast to those smug corporate pricks in Heaven. And we will then watch closely for opportunities to break Michael’s power._

_Beloved. Your cunning is matchless. You are my strong right arm. _

They contemplate one another in silence. Lucifer painfully considers how each time he has had to reincorporate Beelzebub throughout the millennia, The Almighty has forced the resulting body to get progressively more hideous. What next after a bristly little black fly? He shudders inwardly as his voice echoes with weary sadness.

_I will reincorporate you now._

Lucifer transforms into the enormous lava-skinned Satan, waves his hand. Beelzebub reincorporates. Into an iridescent blue damselfly with ebony wings, enormous eyes shining like black pearls. A beautiful creature. She chooses to appear as a female human, and morphs into a slender copper-skinned woman, graceful lidded eyes in a high-cheek-boned Asian face. Her four oval insect wings shine with an inky iridescence. A topknotted brocade Mongol-style hat with a thick sable border frames her face like a crown, enormous gray pearls replacing the red eyes of her former fly headdress. She considers a moment, and snaps a garment into existence: an electric blue shantung men’s suit in a contemporary Chinese designer cut, but with high brocade Mongol collar and offset button closure. Sleek black patent Louboutin loafers. No ugly chancres blemish her skin. Remorseless ferocity remains in her visage, however. Genghis Khan in a suit.

The two rulers of Hell remain silent for a long while.

* * *

What do you think? Black calf or black patent for Beelzebub’s loafers? Hell is quite dusty with ashes.

  
[ ](https://imgur.com/WGNwM8T)


	48. Vacation & Halloween Ball

London. Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Aziraphale and Crowley are coming to on the rug in front of the couch in the lounge, lying atop their crumpled dressing gowns, having spent the night in Divine Ecstasy and never getting as far as the bedroom.

_Let’s take a holiday in Edinburgh, Angel. Drive up there today. Stop in Birmingham at that restaurant you like. _

_What an excellent idea. Let’s get the Castle View suite at the Balmoral. It’s my favorite._

_Overnight in Blackpool, take in a show at Funny Girls? You think?_

_Yes! That does sound like fun._

_My friend has resumed ownership of Funny Girls. Perhaps they can give me some help with my costume and makeup for the Halloween Ball. _

_Well then, let’s be off. _

_Can we start with a full fry-up somewhere? _

_Anywhere you like, Crowley._

* * *

And how did the Halloween Ball at Tadfield Manor turn out? A complete success, of course. Notable costumes included:

Beryl & Ronnie Tyler as Queen Victoria and Prince Albert

Wensleydale& DeeDee as Oliver Twist and The Artful Dodger

Janet & Georgia as Maman Brigitte and Baron Samedi

Uriel & Ammun as Ariel and Prospero (Uriel’s moon moth wings were spectacular)

Peter & Oli as Hephaestion and Alexander the Great (remarkably authentic costumes, thanks to Ammun’s help)

Adam & Pepper as Adam & Eve (leotards and lots of leaves, because it was chilly out)

Mary & Jimmy as a rather unusual nun and Mephistopheles

Brian & Jasmine as Aladdin and Jasmine

Madame Tracy & vicar Pickersgill as Little Dorritt & Arthur Clennam (nice 1830s costumes that Aziraphale helped them with, although other attendees without much Dickens under their belts were a bit mystified)

Aziraphale & Crowley as Bonnie Prince Charlie and Flora MacDonald. Aziraphale’s costume was straight off the Walker’s shortbread tin, but Crowley found actual portraits of Flora on the internet, and appeared in an 18th century dress with low, lace-lined bodice in Jacobite blue silk. With zombie make-up and auburn hair.

Six of the dancers from Funny Girls came down to Tadfield for the occasion, and joined Aziraphale & Crowley in a set piece for the crowd. Started off with a Bach gavotte in 18th century gowns and kilts. Then salsa to Ed Sheeran’s _Shape of You._ For the salsa, the skirts of the gowns were removed, revealing 4 sinewy long-legged dancers in ruffled bloomers matching their bodices, silk stockings fastened above the knee with ribbon garters. The kilted dancers removed their plaids and jackets down to 18th century linen shirts. The dancers had decided that going with Louis XIV heels was probably safest on the ankles. 

* * *

Crowley & Aziraphale bowed out just before midnight. 

_Let’s make out in the graveyard by the church._

_Really, Crowley, you have the most outrageous notions._

Sometime later, in the backseat of the Bentley:

_Crowley, this leather seat is cold as ice._

_You lie atop me, then._

_Leave your silk stockings on, my dear._


	49. Cooperation

Tadfield, early morning. Crowley, Aziraphale, Pepper, Brian, and Disposable Demon DeeDee are gathered round the Bentley, preparing to drive to London to help in a moving project. As he opens the front passenger door for Aziraphale, Crowley inquires:

_DeeDee, how many Disposable Demons will be waiting in London? _

_Most of us have been recalled to Hell, Demon Crowley. But there will be 5 of me and 6 of Eric waiting for us._

_Eric?_

_He’s the one with the fuzzy black horns. We call him Eric because he’s “Easily reincorporated if combusted.” He gets torched way more than any of us. Maybe because he gets sent to Earth a lot. He likes it here. But he gets in trouble with the old-fashioned demons who think Earth is hardship duty unbefitting their rank. Hastur and Ligur used to discorporate him all the time. I’m glad they’re gone._

_You’re welcome._

_Demon Crowley, you have never discorporated any of us. _

_Probably because I was mostly on Earth for 6,000 years and not in a position to be aggravated. Your lot do get underfoot._

DeeDee remembers how Crowley treated The Twins, and looks a bit apprehensive. Then she remembers how he could also have painfully discorporated her on the spot with a mere touch of his hand, but didn’t. As they get into the car, Pepper inquires:

_DeeDee, just what are you all doing in London?_

_We are standing watch over Crowley and Aziraphale. Now that we know the location of Demon Crowley’s flat, it doesn’t take so many of us as before._

Crowley noticeably stiffens in his driver’s seat as he starts the car.

_We help out your human guards, Demon Crowley. We don’t have cars to drive, so sometimes we ride along if your guards need to follow you. We can see better in the dark than they can._

Crowley turns into the lane. His tone of voice creates a chill of uneasiness in the car.

_And just how long has this cooperation been going on, DeeDee? _

_Just after you left on your trip, Demon Crowley. Eric and I kept seeing the same faces trying to lurk in the same places we were, so we asked them what they were doing. _

_And they just told you?_

_Well, no. Not without a little persuasion. We didn’t know they were protecting you just like we were. But it’s all right, Demon Crowley, we told them to keep schtum or we’d get in trouble with our boss, too. The human named Leysa is teaching Eric how to drive. He is older than me in human years. Her car has more luxurious seats than yours, Demon Crowley. But we must wear seatbelts, Leysa says, and you aren’t making us do that. I don’t like seat belts, they remind me of punishments._

Sensing rising ire in Crowley, Aziraphale speaks up.

_Crowley, how about some music? Perhaps that angel piece would be enjoyed by those in the back seat?_

Crowley looks over at Aziraphale for a long moment, then queues up some trance mixes starting with Paul Van Dyk’s _For An Angel, 1998. _Alas, Pepper and Brian have never ridden in the Bentley before, and by the time it arrives in London, Crowley’s driving has made them quite carsick. DeeDee, on the other hand, has spent the journey hopping up and down in her seat in time to the music. Pepper wonders what she and Eric did to persuade Crowley’s surveillance team to talk.


	50. Ticket to Earth

Outside a small café in a shabbier downtown block of a north London suburb. Six identical 20-something male demons and 5 identical teen girl demons are waiting on the sidewalk outside. A nondescript lorry with mud-smeared plates pulls up and parks in a loading zone that has miraculously appeared along the curb in front of the café entrance. A vintage Bentley glides up and parks just in front of the lorry. As Crowley vaults out, the little crowd of demons bows. When they see Aziraphale emerge from the other side of the car, however, they fall backward against the building. DeeDee hops out of the car and skips over to the cowering crew.

_‘S all right, he’s the good angel. He won’t smite us._

LegionEric is not so sure about that. He remembers the Hell Fire incident on the top floor of the Main Office. They quail in alarm as Aziraphale comes around the front of the Bentley and stands next to Crowley. Seeing Aziraphale and Crowley side by side, Eric suddenly understands what had happened, and exactly whom he had so insouciantly requested to hit. It hadn’t been an angel incorporated in that body. Crowley purrs,

_Still fancy hitting an angel, Eric?_

_No, your disgrace!_

All the Disposable Demons fling themselves into a kowtow on the grimy sidewalk.

_Stop that. Get up._

The demons rise and stand uneasily. Brian and Pepper have meanwhile exited the car and come up behind Aziraphale. A ripple goes through the group of Erics as they suddenly become more upright, look much less sooty and shabby, and gaze as one upon Pepper. 

Aziraphale turns to the two teens, notices how they both look a bit peaky.

_Feeling unwell?_

The two nod.

_Crowley’s driving sucks! I think I'm going to be sick._

_I understand the feeling, Pepper. Here, let me take care of your distress._

The angel places his hands alongside Pepper’s ears, then waves a hand over her midsection. Her nausea vanishes. He does the same for Brian. The two teens, simultaneously:

_Thank you, Aziraphale. _

Brian regards the moving crew, grins.

_Gosh, you guys are into goth, right? Wicked!_

Pepper, on the other hand, is dumbstruck by what she sees. A feeling blossoms inside her that she hasn’t felt since she had a crush on her classmate Zafar when he was a little Pakistani newcomer to her 3rd grade class. Eric is so . . . handsome. And adorably cute. Those bunny horns. . .

Crowley hasn’t missed a millisecond of this little tableau.

_Satan’s sins, Pepper, I warned you about this! _

The stricken girl’s eyes meet Crowley’s yellow ones, now faintly glowing through his dark glasses. Aziraphale puts an arm around her shoulder.

_Let us go over and stand with Uriel, Pepper._

Uriel has stepped down from the cab of the lorry, walks over to the old Landrover that has just pulled up behind it. Seeing Ammun step out of the Rover, the crowd of Disposable Demons nearly scatters like a flock of panicked pigeons. They remember Ammun and his sword from the old days. Only Crowley’s barked command _“Stay!” _prevents them from fleeing.

A woman concealed in a headshawl, dark glasses, and winter overcoat emerges from the door of the café, followed by what appears to be a short, plump younger woman in a similar garb. Crowley leads them to the Landrover, signals to Pepper to get in as well. Ammun and his passengers depart, Crowley noting the unremarkable vehicle that pulls out of a side street and continues along in the same direction as the Rover. He continues a conversation he’s been having on his cell phone.

The crowd of Disposable Demons quail again as Uriel stands alongside Aziraphale. While Aziraphale’s expression is kindly and pleasant, hers is quite different. Crowley finishes his call, claps his hands.

_Attention. There are two floors. Items to be moved are flagged with tape. Leave everything else. Eric, two of you get in the lorry and help Uriel and Aziraphale stack and secure things. Brian, you take this clipboard and check off the parcel numbers as they go into the lorry. The rest of you get moving._

The demons scuttle off and with surprising speed and strength are soon going up and down the lorry loading ramp as if they were a conveyor belt. They’ve had eons of practice at this sort of task in Hell. They’ve also learned that there can be unpleasant consequences from damaging anything, so handle the parcels with as much care as if they’re spun from glass. The lorry is loaded in less than twenty minutes. It is, all in all, a remarkable performance.

Uriel climbs into the cab and starts the engine.

_Brian, DeeDee, you go with Uriel. Pepper will be waiting at the farm._

_Angel, into the Bentley, if you please._

_Eric, hand me your phone._

The foremost Eric hands over his cell to Crowley, who spends some moments scrolling through it.

_I see you have some games._

_Yes, your disgrace. There isn’t a lot to do while we’re on surveillance duty. The humans shared them with us._

_Have you played “Ticket to Earth”?_

_No, your disgrace._

Crowley gets out his phone, taps and swipes for some moments.

_It’s on your phone now. You can share it around your selves._

_Thank you, your disgrace._

_I understand you’re learning to drive._

_Yes, your disgrace. The human named Leysa is teaching me. _

_I own a performance driving course. I will contact you in the future about getting some training there._

Eric completely loses it and they kowtow to Crowley.

_Stop that. If you’re going to be any good at modern surveillance, you’ll need better skills than simple lurking. How often do you report to Beelzebub?_

_We don’t, your disgrace, unless she summons us. Our orders are to watch and guard you._

_You saw Tadfield DeeDee’s video to Beelzebub about the Archangel Gabriel?_

The little crowd of demons shuffles uneasily. Uh-oh. Here it comes. Their luck has run out. Discorporation time. How many will get it?

_You have shared this report only among yourselves?_

_Yes, of course, your disgrace. Communications with Prince Beelzebub are classified. Her wrath is terrible._

_Good. Keep it that way, and you’ll be all right. Erase this video from your phones. I have a nice ass, don’t I? But you'll just have to remember it. Now be off. _

The Erics and DeeDees scatter in different directions, some in pairs. They all display an uncanny ability to disappear into shadows and around corners.

Crowley gets in and starts the Bentley by pointing at the ignition switch. Makes a quick short call to Evgeny. Steers the Bentley from the curb, lets it glide into the lane, and when it’s about half a block away, takes both hands from the wheel, turns in his seat back toward the café and makes a complex gesture. Something like a gas explosion shatters the windows in both stories, and by the time the Bentley turns the corner at the end of the block, the building is in flames.


	51. Existential Dread

London. Crowley’s Mayfair flat. He and Aziraphale are sitting close to one another in bed, propped on giant pillows and holding hands.

_Crowley, I hesitate to ask this. Forgive me if I sound critical, because that is most certainly not my intent. I am worried. You have been exceptionally clingy of late. Since you returned from retrieving your Bentley, I doubt you’ve left my presence for more than a minute at a time. Not that I mind, of course._

Aziraphale pulls Crowley’s hand to his lips and kisses it.

Crowley shudders, and curls himself against Aziraphale’s chest, head buried atop the angel’s shoulder.

_I don’t know what it is, Angel. I feel as if something terrible is going to happen, and I won’t be able to do anything about it. _

_Terrible things have already happened, Crowley, and you did so something about them. _

_I think what frightens me is that I failed to prevent them from happening at all._

_What do you mean, Crowley?_

_I mean, moving your bookshop to Tadfield, for starters. Remember how we thought that being under Adam’s umbrella would protect you from further Heavenly attacks? And yet, Gabriel descends right into the very middle of your shop and snatches you away like an owl catching a mouse._

_With help from two angelic thugs._

_Doesn’t matter how he did it. He did it. Then he tortured you. _

Crowley writhes at the memory.

_And I was away and didn’t even know what was going on. _

_Crowley, it’s not your fault. No one suspected such a thing could happen. Well, perhaps The Almighty did. Her ineffable game. Turn a card, spin Fortune’s Wheel, watch the result. “Oh Fortuna, velut luna!”_

_“Sors immanis et inanis, rota tu volubilis, status malus, vana salus semper dissolubilis.” Shit never changes, does it? Why can’t they just leave us alone?_

_You know, Crowley, that question oppresses me as well. Why _can’t_ Heaven just leave us alone? Six millennia they left me ratting around doing menial tasks on Earth. The only time I ever heard from Michael was about my silly miracle expense reports. I was never allowed to draw power enough to accomplish anything other than minor miracles. Corporate did terrible things, and all I could do was flutter around the sidelines and watch. Then be the one left on the ground to slog through the appalling wreckage. _

_The Flood. The Shaanxi Earthquake. Krakatoa. The whole 14th and 20th centuries. And that little sideshow in Sodom and Gomorrah you pulled me out of. Not that burning sulfur would have extinguished me, of course. Although it does smart a fair bit. But the main thing you saved me from was having to appear before Beelzebub for reincorporation. You’ve mentioned numerous times your dread of having to go through the paperwork for a reincorporation request. Hell gets even shirtier. An inevitable trip to the Boiling Sulfur Spa. Judging from how Gabriel just treated you, apparently Heaven also likes to be punitive about reincorporation? It’s not just the paperwork? They have to spank you a bit as well?_

This time it’s Aziraphale’s turn to shiver.

_At least it was a step down from trying to extinguish me with Hell Fire._

_And the other angels just stood around and watched, didn’t they? Nobody came to your defense. _

_No._

_Just as big a pack of rat bastards as the demons in Hell. Worse, actually. Demons make no pretense about enjoying seeing someone get sent to the Sulfur Spa. There’s always an audience lounging around the pools there, snacking on toasted scorpions on sticks, popping corn by the barrel. But angels pretend to be righteous about punishment. Demons laugh when you get your ass caught in the gears. Angels think you deserve it. And they do it to The Sound of Music. It’s a whole other level of sadism. A higher, holier-than-thou level._

Aziraphale is now hugging Crowley very tightly.

_The hypocrisy of the Heavenly Host has indeed been a bitter disillusionment for me, Crowley. You heard what The Twins said when they came for me in the pub. They believed Gabriel wanted me brought in for remedial repentance. Not mere vengeance. They imagined they were helping me. Although later they did seem a bit uncomfortable when Gabriel turned me to stone. Nonetheless, they did just as you said – stood around and watched, did not utter a single word of protest. _

Aziraphale considers a moment.

_And Michael told me some interesting bits of your history, in an effort to discourage me from keeping company with you. She said you are a Seraph. That you were one of Lucifer’s hangers-on, and used to help him spin galaxies. You were like a bird and used to perch on his shoulder. _

_All true. But not exactly crimes meriting a million-light-year plunge into the Lake of Fire, would you say?_

_Hardly. Made you seem even more attractive, really. But Gabriel had a different slant. Accused me of defiling myself with gross matter by eating human food. And the mere thought that we might be having sex together was positively horrifying to him. Let me see if I can remember how he put it. Ah. Yes. That I was allowing you to slake your demonic lust upon my body._

This breaks the tension, and they both laugh.

_Michael said your snake sigil is a demonic brand from Beelzebub. It was she who created your celestial human body, not The Almighty._

_Yep. My reward for the great job I did tempting Eve in Eden. I was so happy. No more crawling around on my stomach. Did you know I was flirting with you when we were standing atop the Eastern Gate? _

_No. Just that for some mysterious reason I immediately liked you._

_I didn’t know I was flirting, either. Thought I was being devilish and tempting you._

_We really are a pair of asses, aren’t we? Six thousand years of toeing the party line instead of just accepting ourselves._

_Well, at least we’re immortal and eventually caught on. A lot of humans die stubborn._

And this sobers them both up once again. Crowley murmurs,

_That immortality might be the cause of the dread I’m feeling. Having just had a taste of what life without you would be like. I’d long to be able to extinguish into oblivion. I’m scared, Aziraphale._

_The things you do, I can’t believe you’re scared of anything, Crowley._

_Oh Hell yes. I’m not brave. Not at all. Never been the bold, fearless, stoic type. I hate being in pain. I run like a panicked donkey if I can escape, and bloody scream my head off if I can’t. Beelzebub terrifies me right down to my molecules. And she’s turned her attention to us now, for some reason. But there’s nowhere I can slither off to. And I won’t leave you alone, in any event. Not ever._

Crowley is breathing in rapid shallow gasps and clutching Aziraphale as a drowning person clings to a life cushion. Aziraphale swallows, hard.

_And I’m . . . I’m . . . s-still a f-failure as a Guardian Angel. Couldn’t stop her from h-hurting you. Oh, Crowley!_

The angel starts to cry. 

_Angel. There was nothing you could have done. Nobody stops Beelzebub. Be thankful you’re smart enough to catch a clue and heeded my warning. She’d have loved breaking you if you had resisted._

They shiver and cling together for too much distressing time before Aziraphale murmurs:

_Crowley. Crowley. Let’s not allow ourselves to be made miserable. Let it out._

He pets Crowley and breathes a soft blessing over him. They both gradually relax and stop breathing.

_I think we need some Divine Ecstasy, and right now._

_Let’s slake our lust by going full goose this time. Ssssss . . . _

_The mattress sags before Crowley remembers to levitate his enormous demonic snake prince form. Alongside him, Aziraphale does likewise to get weight off his flaring wings and rack of horns._

[Continued in Chapter 32, Full Goose Two, at Crowley Gets a New Look]

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/51042457>

And don't miss Aiwa's illustration of the "Full Goose' chapters.

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/51286339#workskin>

* * *

Generally am not interested in learning what music an author thinks accompanies a work (we all have much different tastes), but just in case anyone differs on that score, this is something I’m listening to for inspiration for the next Full Goose chapter:

_Inner Universe_ from _Ghost In the Shell_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIP41E4B-bI>

_Angels and demons were circling above me_

_Swishing through the thorns and galaxies._

_Only the one doesn't know happiness,_

_Who couldn't understand its call…_

_Watch in awe, watch in awe_

_Heavenly glory, heavenly glory_

_Watch in awe, watch in awe_

_Heavenly glory, heavenly glory_

_I am calling, calling now_

_Spirits rise and falling_

_To stay myself longer…_

_Calling, calling, in the depth of longing_

_To stay myself longer…_

_Watch in awe, watch in awe_

_Heavenly glory, heavenly glory_

_Stand alone… _

_Where was life when it had a meaning…_

_Stand alone… _

_Nothing's real anymore and…_

_Endless run…_

_While I'm alive, I can try not to fall while flying_

_To learn how to dream… to love…_

_Endless run…_

_Calling, calling, for the place of knowing_

_There's more than what can be linked_

_Calling, calling now, never will I look away_

_For what life has left for me_

_Yearning, yearning, for what's left of loving_

_To stay myself longer…_

_Calling, calling now, spirits rise and falling…_

_To stay myself longer…_

_Calling, calling, in the depth of longing…_

_To stay myself longer…_

_Watch in awe, watch in awe_

_Heavenly glory, heavenly glory_

_Watch in awe, watch in awe_

_Heavenly glory, heavenly glory_


	52. Violence

London. Mayfair. The sidewalk by the entryway to the building containing Crowley’s flat. It’s a pleasant comparatively warm evening for the season, with no wind or rain. 

Aziraphale and Crowley exit the building, dressed in their kilts and jackets. Overcoats can always be magicked on if needed.

Crowley has just noticed with alarm the approach of a decidedly sketchy trio of young men, when three teens come dashing around the corner and confront the demon and angel up close. One has a large knife, and, based upon where he’s holding it in front of Crowley, evidently knows how to use it.

_Give us your watch, then._

Crowley, exuding menace, slips off his watch and starts to hand it over . . .

And the teen snaps. Fucking posh faggot, just handing over a watch worth tens of thousands of pounds as if it’s nothing. And he stabs Crowley. Three times. But the first wound was all it took, severing the demon’s aorta. He discorporates into a cloud of soot before any blood even splashes to the pavement.

_Fookin’ hell! Why’d you do that?!_

Aziraphale’s sword flashes into his hand, but it’s too late. The panicked gang have scattered like frightened sparrows, fleeing in whatever direction they can run fastest.

His useless sword vanished back into storage, Aziraphale falls to his knees on the sidewalk, moving his hands as if searching for something lost. Passersby from across the street who witnessed the assault have come running. One is calling the police.

_Sir! Are you all right? Are you injured? _

Stunned, but not wanting attention from either the police or an ambulance crew, Aziraphale pulls himself to his feet, gently waves a hand.

_‘M all right. Fine. Nothing to see here. Thank you._

He turns, magics past the keycode and re-enters the building. But doesn’t go to either the stairwell or lift, instead leans on an adjacent wall. Gets out his phone. Remembers how Crowley told him to activate facial recognition. 

_Call Uriel._

* * *

Uriel and Ammun’s London flat over a small freight warehouse.

The golden watch on Uriel’s wrist vibrates. Alarmed, she taps it to speaker, and she and Ammun listen as what sounds like the voice of a distraught Aziraphale comes through. He barely gets past “Uriel . . .” before choking on sobs.

_Aziraphale. Is that you?_

_Cr-crowley. . . D-discorporated._

_Aziraphale, where are you?_

The angels struggles to control his voice, manages to croak, _“Mayfair flat.”_

_We’re in London. We’ll come get you. What’s the address?_

Aziraphale has never actually paid attention to that little detail.

_D-d-don’t know. _

Ammun’s voice comes over the line.

_Fookin’ go outside and take a look, then. _

Moving as if a stunned zombie, Aziraphale exits the building, notes the number on the metallic plate on the wall adjacent the door with the serpent handle, recalls the street name, and relates the information to Uriel. Re-enters and, now weeping uncontrollably, braces himself against the wall. 

_We can get there in ten minutes. Watch for my Mercedes. Don’t hang up on me. _

Uriel and Ammun vault out the door, down the stairs (lift is too slow) and into the parking garage.

* * *

Tadfield. Madame Tracy’s Tea Shop.

Pepper and DeeDee are working after hours, tidying up for the weekend and doing some basic prep work for re-opening Monday morning. Madame Tracy trusts them, and has gone off to have a nice evening of dinner and dancing in Oxford with vicar Pickersgill. DeeDee’s phone blows up, she swipes and holds it to her ear, only to drop it with a cry of alarm. She scrabbles to retrieve it from the wooden floor. It’s still on.

_DeeDee! What is it?_

DeeDee taps it to speaker. Horrifying screams of agony. Crowley’s voice. The screams don’t stop, but go on and on and on . . .

_Demon Crowley has been discorporated. Beelzebub is tormenting him._

_DeeDee! Turn it off!_

Pepper’s skin color has faded. She snatches her phone.

_Mum. Come and get us. Now. Please. Don’t hang up on me._

* * *

Hell. The Reincorporation Ward. Crowley blinks into existence, one hand at his midsection as if trying to grasp something, a look of surprised alarm on his face. He is translucent, tinted overall a light orangey red. The iguana-headed ward demon picks up the receiver from the forked cradle of the 1930s rotary phone on his desk, dials an extension.

_Well now. If it isn’t Demon Crowley. ‘S been a while, eh, chum? Lovely kilt, that. Swank as always._

The ward demon waves to summon two security angels from where they’ve been lounging and having a fag. They come over and stand alongside Crowley. The demon hangs up the phone.

_Prince Beelzebub’s guards are on their way._

The ward demon grins.

_Says she’ll deal with you in her office. Too bad for us, we won’t be able to watch. Extra too bad for you, though._

* * *

Hell. Beelzebub’s office. Two Praetorian Guards escort Crowley through the massive ebony portal.

_Return to your station._

The guards exit the office and walk back down the corridor to their staff room, where they each proceed to make themselves a mug of bitter tea. Two Disposable Demons peep around the corner of the corridor. Once they’re sure the guards aren’t watching, they creep past and lurk in the corridor outside the portal, keeping a careful distance from the rippling heat waves emanating from it. A few more Disposable Demons gradually arrive, peeping around the corner or slinking up to join the first two near the portal. Two of the demons are from the recent London patrol crew, and still have their cell phones.

_Crowley. So pretty, as always. _

_Prince. You’ve changed your look. Suits you._

_Sass, Crowley. You should know better by now._

She gestures, and Crowley is reincorporated. Another gesture, and his clothing vanishes. He instinctively draws up one knee, coiling a foot around his leg, hands clutched protectively over his genitals. His breathing has become rapid and shallow, and he makes no effort to mask his fear. He knows what Beelzebub likes, and he isn’t going to give it to her.

_Turn around._

Beelzebub comes out from behind her desk, stands next to Crowley and caresses the backside of the now shuddering demon.

_Much as I think you’d enjoy some fun, I haven’t the time now. Perhaps later. Once you’re cleaned up from your session at the sulphur spa. But for now, I think we merely need to remind the troops that allowing one’s self to be discorporated is greatly frowned upon . . ._

She touches Crowley at the base of his spine, as she did to Aziraphale when delivering his demonic red star brand. But unlike with Aziraphale, she does not withdraw her hand. Crowley spasms into paralysis, screams and screams and screams as every bone in his body feels as if it’s ablaze. 

This goes on for quite some time. One of the Disposable Demons in the corridor has DeeDee online.

_Satan’s sins, those Seraphim can really take it. He’s still screaming._

Finally, sensing that Crowley is going into shock and once again approaching discorporation, Beelzebub withdraws her hand. Crowley’s rigor ceases and he collapses to the floor. She flicks a finger, and heavy iron shackles appear on his ankles and wrists, connected by chains to another chain around his waist. Beelzebub strides to the portal and summons the waiting Disposable Demons inside. They pause momentarily to make sure the portal has been disarmed before entering. Beelzebub considers it a waste of resources to fry Disposable Demons, but they’ve learned it’s nonetheless wise to be keen but cautious.

_Take him to the sulfur pools._

The demons attempt to lift Crowley. The iron chains are really heavy.

_By his hair._

Two demons obediently each take a large twisted handful of Crowley’s hair and pull his body out the door and down the corridor. Once around the corner and out of sight, the other Disposable Demons gather around on each side of Crowley, linking arms beneath him and lifting him off the filthy floor. The two in front continue to hold his hair, but only pull very gently on it. The letter of the command. One of the Erics repositions the heavy chains, another unwinds his ragged black scarf and drapes it over Crowley. The little group slowly wends its way down and through the ravaged crowds that are staggering along in the dim smoky corridors, taking as much time as they think prudent to reach the sulfur spa. Just another cleanup crew lugging remains. More Disposable Demons gather and casually trickle along in their wake, careful to scuttle along the sidelines and not form a crowd that might attract notice. By the time Crowley is eventually brought before the entry doors to the sulfur spa, the corridor behind is packed solid with Disposable Demons.

_I can stand._

They carefully lower him feet first, then assist him to lean against the wall adjacent the giant doors. His eyes have been closed, but now half open to slits. Glowing red slits. The Eric who gave Crowley his scarf picks it up from where it slid off onto the floor, offers it again. Crowley sighs.

_Thanks. ‘S all right. _

He snaps his fingers to magic his kilt and sweater kit back on beneath the iron shackles. Then moves to stand before the portal.

_Open. _

The two massive doors grind aside with a good deal of screeching and groaning. This is Hell, after all. Nothing works smoothly. Crowley strides inside, escorted by Disposable Demons lugging his chains. Several more Disposable Demons follow him in and casually distribute themselves as if they’re on some other mission. They all have phones out. The remainder continue to clog the corridor, clustering around those with phones.

What the portal opens to is an enormous vista of russet cliffs, hundreds of eerie blue-flaming pools in the cratered foreground landscape merging into a vast burning lake of sulfur that stretches off to the horizon between the sheer canyon walls. The poisonous stench of the gas clouds alone would kill a human. The Disposable Demons have learned that a bit of magic is required to shield their phones from the corrosive atmosphere.

Crowley stops a few meters from the reception desk. A centipede demon seated behind a blackened stone table picks up a handset on a touchtone phone from the 70s, punches in an extension, makes a brief report, and hangs up.

_Nice kilt, Crowley. Still a flash bastard, eh? Well, it won’t last long where you’re going. _

Centipede turns to summon a security demon loafing around one of the nearer pools. And then the Disposable Demons get the entertainment they’re hoping for.

Crowley snaps his fingers, and his shackles fall to the ground. Another blink of an eye, and he is now an enormous golden-horned snake with giant pterosaur wings. With lightning speed, his head strikes through the distance to the desk. A mouth full of fangs sharp as hypodermic needles fastens around the back of the centipede’s head, puncturing the chitin as if it were tissue paper. The insect demon’s poisonous jaws open and close uselessly. Enormous coils fling around the receptionist, pinning and constricting the wriggling legs. A flap of the giant wings, and Crowley is aloft and rocketing over the pools, swift as a falcon with its prize. He is far distant by the time he is over the lake, but the Disposable Demons can still see the release of the receptionist and its plunge into the boiling sulfur below. Crowley continues a circling ascent of the enormous canyon, as might a prehistoric version of a condor. By the time he reaches the upper edge of the precipice, he is lost to sight by those below. Nonetheless, he breathes a gout of fire back in their direction. Just for the Hell of it.

Crowley scans the horrendous barren landscape. Worn and craggy redrock mountains and precipices, craters, red sand, all glowing with a faint incandescence beneath the inky clouds roiling the dark sky. Summons the ancient memory of when he traversed this wilderness before, coiled about Lucifer’s leg as the ruler of Hell set off to find Earth after learning of its creation. He finds the landmark he’s seeking. The River Lethe. Now knowing the way, he flaps aloft. Gliding over the lifeless landscape far below, he soars as does an albatross over the ocean, only seldom moving his wings to change direction or pick up speed as he follows the landmarks of memory.

* * *

Tadfield. Janet & Georgia’s house. The four Them, the two women, DeeDee, and Ammun are all in the front room. Brian has downloaded the app to connect DeeDee’s phone to the flatsceen. Uriel is staying with Aziraphale in a back bedroom, out of hearing of the TV, although the sound has been muted so they group doesn’t have to listen to the horrific screaming. The recordings from the Disposable Demons do not show the interior of Beelzebub’s office. The minds of the viewers resolutely steer away from imagining what the demon might be doing to Crowley to generate such screams. It doesn’t bear thinking about, and none of them have ever read classified reports from World War II, nor are they familiar with the contemporary prisons that use them as baseline instruction manuals.

Finally the jerky feed changes to the slow corridor procession to the sulfur spa. 

_Is he dead?_

_No. He still has his body. He’s very lucky it’s the same one. But we cannot allow him to walk. We have been ordered to pull him by his hair._

Georgia goes and pours herself and Janet another stiff whisky. She didn’t want to let the kids watch this, but Adam was politely and firmly not to be gainsaid.

The portal comes into view, and DeeDee tenses noticeably. As Crowley stands before it, she un-mutes the volume. Moments later, Aziraphale and Uriel hear cries of triumph from those watching the TV.

_Crowley has escaped!_

Aziraphale rolls off the bed and he and Uriel race to the front room. Brian replays the various sequences of the event from the different phones recording it. The humans are simultaneously jubilant about Crowley’s escape and aghast to realize that Hell looks pretty much as it’s been imagined over the millennia. That centipede demon . . .

DeeDee quiets the glee somewhat when she observes:

_No one but Lucifer has ever traversed the lands of chaos. Some have tried. None have returned._


	53. Homecoming

Chaos. Crowley observes the landmark that he’s been watching for on the bleak and blistered vista below, punches upward through the inky clouds into a jet sky with bizarre constellations. Death is waiting by the Door.

_Demon Crowley. You are in luck. One of the antipodes tonight is over Limerick._

_Closer than I expected. Thanks, Death. _

Death signs inwardly at the insouciance. Crowley never changes. He lenses open the Portal, and the flying demonic snake zooms through.

To find himself high in the night sky over Limerick, town lights glittering below. How to get to Tadfield? He decides he’s less likely to be seen if he flies low over the estuary. No sense getting the humans excited about a dragon in the sky over County Limerick. He covers the 20 kilometers to Shannon Airport in about 10 minutes, alights in the grounds of the Shannon Golf Club beneath the closest cover to the parking area. Transforms into Mafia Oscar Wilde and commandeers a convenient Mercedes . . .

* * *

Tadfield. The old stone farmhouse at Crowley’s Croll Farm.

Adam’s jeweled phone on Uriel’s wrist buzzes.

_Is Aziraphale all right?_

_Crowley! Aziraphale is here with us at the farm. Where are you?_

_Meet me at the Tadfield driving course. I’ll be arriving by helicopter in about two hours. Ciao._

* * *

Tadfield. Helicopter pad at the Tadfield Performance Driving Course. Mary Hodges is waiting with the Manor’s escort van. Uriel is waiting in her older Mercedes. A sleek incoming H130 helicopter whirrs in the distance. Aziraphale and Uriel get out of the car. The helicopter floats in and alights. Uriel grabs Aziraphale and prevents him from approaching until the rotors have stopped. Crowley vaults from the front co-pilot’s seat, races over and embraces Aziraphale in a desperate hug. The two lovers stand silent, entwined, transfixed.

Mary accosts the pilot as he debarks, welcomes him to Tadfield Manor, tells him a lovely room has been prepared for his convenience, with complete room service should he require anything. Staff will service the helicopter. They drive off in the van.

Uriel approaches Crowley & Aziraphale.

_Shall I give you a lift to the bookshop?_

Crowley raises his head from Aziraphale’s shoulder.

_We’ll be all right. _

_Thank you, Uriel. I don’t know how I could have survived the past few days without you and Ammun._

_The least we could do, Aziraphale. Good night._

She gets into her car, starts the engine, drives off slowly, watching the two in her rearview mirror.

Aziraphale breaks away from Crowley and starts running, flares his swan wings and takes off into the night. Crowley flares his raven wings and takes off from a standing start, following Aziraphale high into the sky.

Uriel stops the car, gets out, watches them fly upward for as far as she can see. While not in the same league as demons, angels have excellent night vision, and she can just make them out as they turn, embrace, and tumble off through the air, cartwheeling like courting eagles. She loses sight of them in the dark sky.

Tadfield being the kind of place it is, no humans are awake to observe two naked winged men alight in the street in front of the bookshop, winch in their wings, run over to the entry and plunge through the door. A small demon has been keeping watch, however, and smiles as she calls Adam.

* * *

[More explicit details of subsequent celebration in the bookshop at Chapter 33 of Crowley Gets a New Look]

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/51163975>


	54. Legion

Tadfield. Mid-morning. Madame Tracy’s Tea Shop. Aziraphale and Crowley are at the table by the window enjoying cocoa, a cappuccino, and ham and cheese croissants.

DeeDee comes out from behind the counter and stands alongside Crowley, warily regarding Aziraphale.

_Prince._

The little demon’s demeanor has subtly morphed. She no longer looks childlike. Her eyes are ancient. Weary. Remorseless.

_Not here, Legion. Later, outside._

A blink of the eye and DeeDee is once again her insouciant self. She skips back behind the counter.

Crowley gets out his phone. 

_Call Sister Mary. . . . Mary, is the helicopter pilot still there? . . . Tell him I’d like to charter to London. We’ll need a pickup in about an hour. Send the van to the bookshop please. Ciao._

* * *

Aziraphale and Crowley have finished their breakfast and exited the shop. DeeDee runs out and joins them as they walk toward the bookshop. Legion resurfaces.

_Prince. _

Crowley nods.

_We can speak before the angel?_

_Yes. But let’s go inside the bookshop. And watch it with the “Prince,” Legion. The Dark Council hear you say that, you won’t like the consequences. They prefer to forget that I’m a Seraph, and I prefer to remain beneath their notice. You can call me “Crowley,” but if anyone else is listening, it’s “Demon Crowley.” _

_Yes, Demon Crowley._

Legion has some uneasy moments, keeping close to Crowley on the side opposite Aziraphale. The three enter the bookshop.

_All right, let’s have it, Legion._

_You flew over Chaos to reach Earth?_

_Yes._

_How did you find the way?_

_Made the first trip with Lucifer, back in the day._

_Is it far?_

_Yes. _

Legion is again silent for a moment. Then murmurs:

_Through The Gate, or past Beelzebub’s office to The Main Entrance. Those are the only entry and exit points._

_The only permitted ones. Somehow, I didn’t think they’d let me pass._

_Not even Beelzebub has traversed Chaos._

_Is that so? _

_Yes, Demon Crowley. _

_You can call me “Crowley” before Aziraphale._

_Principality Aziraphale will not smite me?_

_Probably not, if I’m around._

Aziraphale has been looking very stern, and is hard pressed to not let his lips twitch.

_We are going to London now. Have the Eric who is learning to drive wait outside my apartment building._

_He is already there, Crowley. Has been waiting since your discorporation._

Legion dissipates, and DeeDee is once again before them. She dashes out the door and back to the tea shop to resume her counter duties.

_Legion, Crowley? One of the most foul fiends from Hell?_

_Who did you think the Disposable Demons were, Angel?_

_I suppose I thought they were simply menials. Not that they were actually Legion. Good lord._

_They’re not actually her. They are somewhat independent individuals. More like leaves, and she’s the tree. And it’s been awhile since the Gadarene swine days. _

_Well, yes, that’s true. _

_Besides, the humans Legion possessed were pretty rocky specimens to begin with. Surely you have observed that humanity has no shortage of psychotics and psychopaths. Blaming Legion for their deranged behavior would be like blaming you for Madame Tracy riding a scooter._

Aziraphale grimaces. Possessing humans. Yet another reminder that he’s sloping downward to the demonic? Or maybe . . .

_Legion has mellowed a bit in the last couple of millennia?_

_Had her edges ground off, more like. Once the focus shifted from corrupting humanity to dealing with the hordes of incoming Damned and preparing for Armageddon, Earth assignments were tapered off in order to handle that workload. Guessing Legion is getting fed to the teeth with having to do all the scut work and being discorporated piecemeal on a regular basis. _

_Rebellion brewing in Hell? That’s pretty rich._

Crowley gives him a look.

_Not to mention angels falling from Heaven?_

This time Aziraphale winces.

_That smarted, Crowley. But point taken._

_Didn’t mean to be sharp, Aziraphale. But you, Uriel, and Ammun are pretty definitely on the lam._

_Well, yes. Hard to describe it any other way._

_Nonetheless, you’re right. Something has changed in Hell. Things were different this trip. But, let’s talk about all that later. I’m still feeling a bit whippy about the whole experience. _

Crowley involuntarily shudders.

_Ah. Here’s the van. Off to London we go. Be thinking about where to have some scrumptious lunch. And then we can drink ourselves silly and do a Wings marathon of Divine Ecstasy when we’re back at the flat._

Aziraphale takes his hand.

_You’ll hear no argument from me, Crowley. Let us be off._

* * *

London. On the sidewalk in front of Crowley’s Mayfair flat building. Disposable Demon Eric emerges from a shadow and approaches Crowley and Aziraphale. He stands with his arms wrapped around himself, as if cold.

_Your Disgrace._

_Don’t say that, Eric. I’m not a Duke of Hell. It’s “Demon Crowley,” unless you want the higher ups overhearing you and flaming your ass into cinders. _

_Yes, Demon Crowley._

Aziraphale interjects:

_Eric, are you cold?_

Eric looks nervously from Aziraphale to Crowley and then back to Aziraphale.

_A bit, Principality Aziraphale. _

_There’s a little caff three blocks down that has excellent Cornish pasties. Let us go there to converse._

Crowley gives Aziraphale a look. Sighs with exasperation, then snaps his fingers. Eric’s sooty rags are transformed into a sharp charcoal wool Italian suit over a matching thin cashmere turtleneck, a fringed black cashmere wrap around his shoulders, black cashmere beanie, Prada boots, black leather gloves.

Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand and the pair move off toward the café, Eric following.

* * *

That evening continued in Chapter 34, Naked, of Crowley Gets a New Look

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/51253576#workskin>


	55. A Fade and a Quiff

_Julia’s Salon de Beaut__é _in Tadfield, just before lunch. As usual, heads covertly turn after Crowley as he walks in wearing his LGBTQ kilt and soft ultraviolet pullover.

_‘Lo, Peter. Bank board meeting later today. Have to do something with this hair._

Peter thinks, but does not say, “_Hmmmm . . . You do seem to have had some adventures with it lately.”_

_Yes, Mr. Crowley. We’ll fix you up nicely. Perhaps a facial as well, and a new nail color? _

_I leave myself in your capable hands._

* * *

Facial and hair wash completed, Peter seats Crowley for his haircut.

_I’d like to wear it short for a while, Peter. _

Peter gets a grip on his disappointment at not getting a chance to style the russet mane, but then brightens at the challenge of giving Crowley a hip cut.

_Perhaps a low fade, with a quiff?_

_Whatever that is, Peter. _

_It’s very short on the sides, lengthening as it goes upward. Bit more contemporary than the traditional layered cut. I think perhaps without a part, unless you prefer a more formal pompadour look._

_Let’s have it a bit tousled. I did the part thing a few years ago._

* * *

Aziraphale’s bookshop. Word has spread quickly around Tadfield that it’s actually open again, and patrons have flocked in. The 20 pence used book exchange shelves are more popular than the local library, as one never knows what might turn up on them. Crowley strolls in, and at least two customers drop the books they’re holding.

Tadfield has about gotten over the LGBT kilt, but today Crowley sets a new high bar for the local gentry. He’s wearing an exquisitely structured dark charcoal Tommy Nutter style suit, matching windowpane check waistcoat and tie, with a black pearl tie tack and small charcoal silk rose boutonniere. Plus a maroon shirt and pocket kerchief for that extra Mafia touch. The shirt color matches his fingernails. The suit alone likely cost a quarter of Mr. Pickersgill’s stipend. The Patek Philippe Grand Complications in black and rose gold with black alligator strap, at least 40 times. None of the bystanders know those details, of course. But they can sense it just from the look.

A whiff of a peculiar aroma follows him as he saunters through the shop, a combination of animal lust and sanctity.

_Aziraphale. Come into the back room for a mo?_

Aziraphale has barely closed the door before Crowley embraces him and kisses him like they haven’t seen one another in weeks. Then:

_Still feeling whippy, Angel. Hard to get back into gear. But the parish hall needs to be dealt with. Some developers are eyeing the property._

Aziraphale runs his hands over the sides of Crowley’s head and fingers through the tousled quiff.

_Crowley. You feel like cut velvet. I could caress this for hours. _

_Have to drive to London for more biz, but I’ll be back by early evening. Then you can pet me into ecstasy. _

_Are you wearing new cologne? _

_Yep. Avignon, by Comme des Garcons. Smells like high church, don’t you think? Seemed just the thing for a bank board meeting with the vicar about St. Cecil’s hall._

_My word, yes. A piquant blend with your evil aroma._

_Thank you, Aziraphale. You say the sweetest things. One more smooch . . . I gotta go._

_I so love you, Crowley._

_I’ll grab a couple bottles of Cristal when I’m in London. Ciao, Angel._

Aziraphale pats his face to disappear the marks on it, straightens his bow tie, then sallies back into the shop.

* * *

Board room in the Tadfield bank. Crowley had it re-decorated in a Victorian ambience with mahogany paneling, an extraordinary Persian carpet, dark carved cathedral celebrant chairs around a gleaming flame mahogany table, green banker’s lamps, and a potted palm in a modern Chinese _famille verte _porcelain jardinière to lighten the place up a tad. The laptops are all sleek and up to the minute, however.

_Mr. Pickersgill, would you be so kind as to update us on the fire at the parish hall. I understand it occurred the evening before last?_

_Yes, Mr. Crowley. The fire investigators are still working through the remains, but the chief did tell me that they could find no obvious signs of arson._

_Traces of petrol or explosives, I imagine is what they mean?_

_I’m afraid I did not have the curiosity to inquire about the technicalities. Mr. Crowley. _

_I understand. The whole experience must be extremely stressful, considering the tenuous state of St. Cecil’s finances. What about that golden statue that was on loan to the parish?_

_Now that is a mystery, indeed, Mr. Crowley. There is no trace of it. No melted metal. Nothing. It must have been stolen just prior to the fire._

_What did the lenders have to say about the statue’s disappearance?_

_Needless to say, I was in a good deal of distress when I contacted them yesterday morning. However, they were most kind about the whole affair. They told me that the statue was a replica. That it was insured. Requested that I simply have a copy of the fire investigation report sent to them for insurance purposes. Said I wasn’t to worry about it further. After all, it was at their behest that we were hosting the statue. _

_Did they demand a refund of the hosting fee that was paid to St. Cecil’s?_

_No. They said we had fulfilled the terms of the loan, and that they were gratified we were expending the funds upon repairs to the church._

_No casting blame about the lack of security on the premises?_

_I was so worried they would accuse us of exactly that. However, they said that if security been a concern of theirs, they would have provided the appropriate staff themselves. The statue being a replica, they considered its loss inconsequential._

One of the other board members murmurs:

_Bit of a miracle, that._

_Most unusual, indeed._

_Just so. One tends to expect more predatory and ruthless financial behavior nowadays._

Crowley brings everyone round again:

_The loss of the parish hall is not inconsequential, however. St. Cecil’s has been in such financial difficulty that merely keeping up with repairs has been a burden. And I believe your stipend is already below the average, Mr. Pickersgill?_

_Yes. But I do not mind the frugality required. My needs are simple, and whatever is left I apply to church maintenance, such as support for the Altar Society._

_You have no family to support?_

_I am a widower, and without issue._

_Blameless as your lifestyle may be, Mr. Pickersgill, I nonetheless see no possibility of income sufficient to service any bond requisite to re-build the hall. You have contacted the church about funding resources?_

_I had a brief preliminary communication with the bishop, Mr. Crowley, with unpromising result. That avenue is not entirely closed, however, and of course I plan to be importunate._

A tiny smile flits across Crowley’s face, unnoticed by the other board members, who are paying attention to Mr. Pickersgill.

_Mr. Pickersgill, my sources inform me that a developer is eyeing the property. Have you heard from anyone specifically?_

_The bishop did mention something of the sort. But of course, I am the last person to be informed of any such inquiries._

_So I take it you do not know the name of the person or board directly responsible for church real estate matters, Mr. Pickersgill? No one has stopped by to introduce themselves?_

_Alas, no, Mr. Crowley. But I can contact the bishop and relay such information to you._

_I will do that myself, Mr. Pickersgill, you needn’t worry further. Please inform me immediately should anyone actually come round to the site, however. _

_Yes, Mr. Crowley. Do you have a cell number I should use?_

Crowley does not reply, but pulls out his phone and taps in a call to the vicar’s number. A phone with a ringtone of “Rock of Ages” chimes. 

_Now you have the number to call._

_Thank you, Mr. Crowley. _

The vicar hesitates. Then:

_If I may be so bold as to inquire, Mr. Crowley, is the bank considering an investment in the property?_

_We are indeed considering such action, Mr. Pickersgill. As you are no doubt aware, however, current interest rates are extremely low and unlikely to generate much return to the bank shareholders, especially if the property is re-built as a parish hall._

_Mr. Crowley, I must plead with you. St. Cecil’s hall has been popular for events throughout the Tadfield community, not just for activities connected with the church._

_Allow me to reassure you, Mr. Pickersgill, that as local bankers we are very much aware of community values. I personally consider them of equal importance with return to shareholders. _

Crowley addresses all the board members as well as Mr. Pickersgill:

_What I will propose the board consider, once I have more details, is a reconstruction of the parish hall as a community venue. Perhaps a light, gothic-inspired design to echo the St. Cecil’s architecture. You needn’t worry about some structure such as Ed Sheeran’s prayer hall. With modern ecological standards for such necessities as power and water. This of course is extremely preliminary. And I would ask approval from the Board before moving forward to frame such a proposal for architects to respond to, as well as for permission to contact the church real estate board to discuss potential sources for funds. Now Mr. Pickersgill, would you be so kind as to excuse us so that we may have our discussion?_

The vicar rises from his chair as if on springs.

_Of course, Mr. Crowley._

The secretary at the foot of the table rises and escorts the vicar to the door, assisting him with his coat and hat and showing him out.

_Now then, gentlemen. Your thoughts?_

_Mr. Crowley, do you seriously believe there will be any willing investors at such low interest rate and unlikelihood of revenue and profit?_

_I am in fact aware of a number who might be pleased to find such a haven for their funds. Low interest is better than no interest at all. We are in perilous financial times, gentlemen. And our balance sheet could use an influx of funds._

The board members manfully resist looking at one another. Each has identical suspicions as to just what type of “investors” Crowley is referring to. One member does have the temerity to speak up.

_The funds these investors command are all perfectly legal, are they, Mr. Crowley?_

_Of course. One must be most careful these days to ensure that funds do not come from extra-legal sources. We don’t want to do our own little replay of HSBC, now, do we? _

Crowley’s smile makes at least one pair of testicles in the room contract. Merciful that those dark glasses are hiding whatever expression is behind them. Only one thing frightens them more.

_Mr. Crowley, will the boys in London object to our taking this bull by the horns, so to speak?_

_Leave them to me. I suspect your proactivity in this matter will eventually be a source of commendation. They like it when someone else does all the work. Secretary, strike Mr. Love’s last question and my reply from the minutes._

A moment of silence ensues. Then Crowley resumes:

_I move that we seek architectural proposals for a reconstruction of the parish hall in a modern design consistent with community architecture and current ecological standards for power, heat, and water._

_I second the motion._

_Any discussion? . . . Any objection?_

_Motion approved with unanimous consent._

_I move that I be granted permission to negotiate with church authorities as a potential source of funding for such a parish hall reconstruction. And with any other investors that I deem likely to be interested in such a project._

_I second the motion._

_Any discussion? . . . Any objection?_

_Motion approved with unanimous consent._

How our two lovers spend their evening continues in the _"Bollocks to Heaven" _chapter at _Crowley Gets A New Look_

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/51371203>


	56. Beelzebub and Gabriel

Tadfield. Two days prior. Just after midnight in St. Cecil’s Parish Hall.

Beelzebub rises through the floor before the golden statue that is the Archangel Gabriel. Beelzebub can see perfectly in the dark, but some additional light is cast as her body generates a reddish glow upon the inky surroundings.

_Messenger Boy. When last we met, I was quite different, was I not?_

Arms extended, she slowly twirls before Gabriel. Then with a flick of her hand, vanishes her garments and hat and stands nude before Gabriel as a beautiful tall Eurasian woman with incandescent Mongol eyes. Deliberately twirls again.

_But you liked me best as a male, yes?_

And she’s a slender young man with sculpted shoulders and pectorals. She approaches the statue, and levitates until she is gazing directly into his eyes. Her hand lightly caresses the statue’s streamlined Art Deco penis. Gabriel feels her touch as painfully hot.

_How you longed for my touch! _

She descends to the floor.

_But I am Lucifer’s. You can never have me. He alone is whom I love._

She once again assumes her female form, Genghis Khan power suit and sable hat.

_When I learned you were here, upon unconsecrated ground, I considered how best to take advantage of such an unexpected opportunity. . . ._

_When the Demon Crowley and his angel mocked you without consequence, I wondered, “Where were his guards? Have they been so foolish as to leave him alone and unattended?”_

She pretends to survey the room.

_Yet here I am, alone with you. No one to interfere. No one to protect you. . . ._

_I first thought to extinguish you with Hell Fire, as you tried to do to your Principality Aziraphale. The irony would be matchless. But, that would mean you would no longer exist. You would not be around to vanquish and to triumph over when we finally overcome the Heavenly Host and take back what is ours._

_I briefly considered discorporating you in the same manner as your lot treated our beautiful witches back in the day. Burn down the hall and let you suffer in the flames. But as vengeance, that is scarcely worth the effort. You would not suffer nearly enough._

_I considered simply tormenting you until you discorporated. That would at least be amusing. _

She steps forward and reaches around to touch the base of his spine with her index finger.

_Recently I treated the Demon Crowley to a little disciplinary session of this fun. I wonder if you would last as long as he did. Probably not, you are a mere archangel. But you cannot scream in that form, so that takes away much of the entertainment value for me. _

She removes her finger.

_My conclusion, you will no doubt be interested to learn, is that leaving you as unguarded bait can only be a trap set by The Almighty. It is too obviously a temptation to seek vengeance upon you. She does have that quaint notion that vengeance is hers alone. And I see no reason to present that smug pig Michael with yet another excuse to wallow in self-righteousness. But we must both wonder, Messenger Boy, why you have been exposed to such grave risk merely to test me. . . ._

She stands with arms folded, regarding him for some minutes.

_Well, then. It is pleasant chatting with you, but I must be about my business._

_You will doubtless be relieved to hear that I have chosen to discorporate you painfully but quickly. I look forward to receiving your thanks for ending your travail as a statue._

She bows mockingly, then turns and walks across and to one end of the hall. Gestures to levitate Gabriel from his pedestal and into the room, then elevates him until he’s near the ceiling. With a violent fling of her arm she casts what resembles a white hot bolt of lightning over the statue, and with a crack of thunder he vanishes into plasma. Beelzebub flares her long black damselfly wings and pirouettes as she casts additional fire around the hall, then also vanishes. The building rapidly incinerates right down to ash, melting the metal and exploding the concrete into rubble.

* * *

Morning, three days later. Crowley and DeeDee stand on the perimeter of the site, outside the tapes strung by the fire investigators.

_I expect the humans will have some amusing explanations of what happened here. That exploded concrete isn’t the result of mere Hell Fire. Beelzebub didn’t extinguish him. Wonder why she’d pass on an opportunity like that? _

_I do not know, Demon Crowley. Beelzebub is walking around as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened._

_Uriel reports that Gabriel has been reincorporated. I’d like to be a fly on the wall in his office. But we’ll have to make do with Uriel’s full report later today. Shall we get back to Madame Tracy’s for a cappuccino and a cocoa?_

_Yes, Demon Crowley._

DeeDee is nearly aflame with delight at being permitted to ride in the front seat of the Bentley.

_Will you play that angel song, Demon Crowley?_

The little demon hops in her seat in time to the beat as Crowley, resignedly relaxed, steers the car with only a finger on the wheel, as if the vehicle has memorized the village streets and lanes and is navigating all by itself.

Uriel’s report turns out to be interesting indeed. As does the front page of The Tadfield Advertiser:

METEOR STRIKES PARISH HALL?


	57. Intrigue at Heaven and Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roberto Ferri painted this figure as Lucifer, but in this story he's Beelzebub.  
Marble statue is L'ange du mal (1842) by Joseph Geefs.

Heaven. Gabriel’s office. Michael and Baraquiel walk in, are surprised to see Gabriel standing before the panorama window. His 30-day sentence as a statue still has many days to go. Gabriel is not at all his usual self. Instead of a sleek modern suit, he’s garbed in a heavy white silk and gold dalmatic over a long linen alb. A Tyrean purple cloak with cloisonné jeweled clasp lies draped over the back of his executive chair. Oddly, he is barefoot.

_Gabriel!_

The archangel turns and gazes somberly at Michael.

_Why was I left unguarded, on unconsecrated ground?_

_I do not understand, Gabriel. The church of St. Cecil’s and All Angels is consecrated ground._

_I was not in the church. I was delivered to the parish hall. And why that particular church? In the same town as the renegade Principality Aziraphale and his demon lover? What was the thought behind that?_

Only now does Michael have the horrid realization that the statue might not have been unconscious the entire time. A cool customer nonetheless, she opens her mouth as if to explain, but Gabriel cuts her short.

_Leave, Michael._

Michael nods and silently exits.

_Baraquiel, go personally to the freight office and retrieve the invoice for the Tadfield delivery. And on your way back, summon The Twins. _

* * *

Pandemonium, Hell. The empty and echoing audience chamber of The Dark Council. Lucifer is a marble statue shackled to his throne. Beelzebub is taking no risks, and is likewise a marble statue of a beautiful man, chained to a pillar on the dais below. He has recounted to Lucifer what transpired during his visit to St. Cecil’s parish hall.

_Lord, the whole situation was an obvious mouse trap. Gabriel was bait. But a trap set by whom, and for which mouse? We have seen that the Demon Crowley and his angel entered, mocked Gabriel, and departed unscathed._

_The Almighty wants Crowley and his angel shielded. Unlikely she would smite them for so trivial an offense. After all, Gabriel was sentenced to a severe punishment. What those two scamps did was an inconsequential prank. _

Lucifer continues:

_Beloved, there is no reason for The Almighty to entrap us. We are already Fallen and suffering severe punishment. While The Almighty’s thought processes are of course ineffable, we must wonder if she is displeased with her Heavenly Host. Punishing Gabriel is unprecedented._

_Yes, Lord. An extraordinary event and a harsh punishment. Could it be that Gabriel did not realize how reincorporating someone as a statue does not remove their consciousness? _

Beelzebub’s voice cracks, and he pauses to regain self-control.

_Lord, perhaps Gabriel believed the angel Aziraphale was unconscious and unaware. The Almighty’s punishment was to make Gabriel realize that his treatment of the little angel was too severe. A bitter taste of his own medicine._

_Beloved, we know The Almighty was displeased about the Hell Fire incident. _

_Yes Lord. Gabriel himself relayed the directive that we were to leave those little pests Demon Crowley and his angel to themselves. As you, of course, had already ordered us to do without any input from The Almighty._

_Yet despite The Almighty’s directive, Gabriel tortured the angel, and attempted to extinguish our snake Crowley. Surely he was not so foolish as to imagine that The Almighty’s directive was only for us, and not for the Heavenly Host to obey? _

_Lord, Gabriel is handsome and strong, but not exceptionally bright. He is no match for Michael’s guile. She set up Gabriel. Allowed him to follow my lure to use the angel to exact his petty vengeance upon Demon Crowley. Let him disgrace himself in the eyes of The Almighty. Then she takes command of the Heavenly Host. _

_So the mousetrap was set by Michael. _

_Lord, that could explain why she chose the hall in Tadfield, of all places, to store Gabriel’s statue. A town known to be inhabited by not only an angel, but a demon as well. Who both had cause for resentment towards Gabriel._

_To put it mildly, Beloved._

_Lord, Michael may have planned for an even worse outcome for Gabriel. Perhaps she hoped that Demon Crowley would be unable to resist the temptation to do something more injurious to Gabriel than a mere prank? That he might summon me?_

_If so, she was right about that. Crowley did indeed use the Tadfield Disposable Demon to communicate the situation to us. In his own special way. The little snake is an amusing jester, still._

Lucifer laughs. If Beelzebub could grind his teeth, he would be doing so.

_Yes, Lord. Summoning me was a nice bit of guile on Crowley’s part._

He pauses for a moment, then continues.

_Lord, could Michael at last be weary of merely being the power behind the throne? Perhaps the sin of Pride is germinating? Might she have resolved to actually expose Gabriel to murder?_

_Beloved, it is difficult to believe that Michael would be so prideful as to think that you would conveniently appear and destroy Gabriel for her. That’s a serious underestimation of you, to begin with._

_Thank you, Lord. Setting up Gabriel for extinction would certainly not have gone unnoticed by the Almighty, ineffability be damned. One would expect to see an angel meteor plunging into our lovely Lake of Fire. _

Lucifer’s demonic laugh booms throughout the hall.

_Yes, Beloved. Michael must at least remember their guidance books: “Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation, and every city or house divided against itself will not stand.”_

_Lord, perhaps this is a plan gone wrong? Michael did not actually foresee a fatal threat to Gabriel? She undoubtedly believes Demon Crowley to be a mere nuisance, unlikely to possess the power to harm Gabriel. She has no experience, as we have, of his sly cunning and deceit. _

_Indeed, Beloved. Perhaps the trap was set merely to let a little rat nibble on the cheese. Petty vengeance against Gabriel for being such a prick. Display him to Demon Crowley and his angel. Believing Demon Crowley a renegade, she did not suspect he would summon you._

Lucifer laughs once more.

_It would be amusing indeed if this incident was a cock-up on Michael’s part. Perhaps we are over-estimating her guile._

_Lord, as we know, it takes a great deal of power to even speak in this form. So it is likely neither the angel Aziraphale nor Gabriel could speak. The angels thus assumed that statues are unconscious. Michael might not have realized that Gabriel could feel pain._

_Beloved, if Michael indeed did not know that statue incorporations can be sentient, she’s in for a huge surprise when Gabriel calls her to account._

Another echoing laugh from Lucifer.

_Indeed, Lord. But Demon Crowley obviously knew that Gabriel was awake and aware. _

_Angel Aziraphale must have explained that to him. That leaves the question as to how did Angel Aziraphale escape his statue incorporation and resume his celestial body. _

_Lord, your son can reincorporate individuals. But he was not present. Did The Almighty intervene? _

_As usual, she has given no hints of any intervention. _

Beelzebub has previously reported Crowley’s escape from Hell, from which they had both drawn an unsettling conclusion.

The two rulers of Hell sit silently for a long while. 


	58. Uriel's Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelangelo's "Rebellious Slave," Oskar Hansen's "Wings."

Uriel’s Report

Tadfield. Janet and Georgia’s lounge. It’s a bit crowded. Aziraphale and Crowley are on the sofa, holding hands, Aziraphale sitting primly upright, Crowley slouched with his head on the seat back. DeeDee, anxious about the presence of Uriel, is curled up on the couch next to Crowley. Wensleydale is sitting on the carpet, back against the couch end near DeeDee. Adam is sitting backwards on a chair from the dining room, chin resting on his arms folded over the back. Pepper and Georgia are on the loveseat, Janet in the armchair, Brian on the carpet with his back against the loveseat.

_Where’s Ammun?_

_In London at the freight office. There seems to be some suspicion on the part of The Twins that he and I are an item. We thought it best not to risk being seen together. _

She glances at Crowley, but he makes no reaction other than to open his mouth slightly and run his tongue over his upper lip. Uriel quickly averts her eyes and continues her narrative.

_As you know, The Twins called me this morning and summoned me to the Main Office. When I arrived more quickly than they expected, they wanted to know why I wasn’t in Tadfield. I explained that the Angel Aziraphale had mostly been in London the past few weeks, and so of course I was, too, having been assigned to monitor him._

_They asked me if I knew about the golden statue at St. Cecil’s church in Tadfield. I said I’d heard the church had been gifted with a work of modern religious art, but that I really didn’t know much more than that. There had been a rather amusing letter to the local paper about it, complaining about the statue’s nudity. I was going to go take a look at it when I returned to Tadfield, but it was evidently stolen, and the parish hall burned down. So I never got a chance to see it._

Adam murmurs:

_Do you think they believed you?_

_I did not sense any suspicion. Only when I arrived at Gabriel’s office did I learn that The Twins are in hot water themselves for not providing security for his statue. Gabriel was in a fury. Baraquiel, his executive assistant – formerly my job – was nearly paralyzed with terror that he was going to be demoted to Housekeeping. I still cannot believe I heard this, but when Michael ventured to speak, Gabriel told her to shut the fuck up._

This gets a horse laugh from Crowley. Aziraphale is biting his lips.

_Gabriel had Baraquiel fetch the freight invoice, which showed the statue was to be delivered to St. Cecil and All Angels Church in Tadfield. As you know, Ammun and I drove the lorry that delivered the crated statue. Mr. Pickersgill said he had conferred with the Altar Society, and they had deemed the statue to be inharmonious with the historic ambience of St. Cecil’s. He asked us to deliver it to the parish hall instead. So we did. The human crew was already on site, and they took care of unboxing and installing the statue. Fortunately, we had Mr. Pickersgill write on the invoice his instructions about the parish hall delivery, and he had checked the appropriate boxes and signed for the delivery. All in his own writing, not ours. So I hope that forestalled any demands to call the lorry crew onto the carpet. That would, of course, have jeopardized my and Ammun’s cover. Ammun and I never did really get a look at the statue – all I saw was the cellphone pics from one of the angels at the Main Office loading dock._

_Gabriel said he had been conscious the entire time he was frozen as a statue. That he had been subjected to humiliation and abuse. “I’m the Archangel fucking Gabriel, and I was left alone and unattended without any security whatsoever.”_

Adam turns to give Crowley a searching stare, but Crowley’s attention is upon Aziraphale. He’s turned to put an arm around the angel’s shoulder, and is holding his hand tightly. Adam returns his attention to Uriel.

_He related that Beelzebub herself had appeared before him and taunted him with extinction by Hell Fire. That she desisted only because she claimed to be looking forward to gloating over him when Hell was finally victorious over the Heavenly Host._

Crowley interjects:

_Guessing she did more than merely taunt him. No wonder he was upset. You angels don’t get treats like Beelzebub delivers on a regular basis._

Breathless silence in the room as the various viewers recollect the screaming in the videos of Crowley’s recent visit to Hell. Aziraphale’s face is turned toward Crowley, his gaze frozen in concern.

Crowley continues:

_Well, score one for Beelzebub. Then what happened?_

Uriel resumes:

_Michael spoke up at last, and told Gabriel that neither she nor anyone else had any suspicion that he was conscious inside that statue. That it was not her decision to place the statue at St. Cecil’s, is was a directive from The Almighty. Would he like to see the gilded scroll of command?_

_That she – Michael – had assumed the statue would be safe inside the consecrated ground of the church. No one from shipping had informed her of the change to the delivery site. _

_Having no reason to believe the statue was in any jeopardy, and Security being short-staffed due to the recent discorporation of a dozen of the Thrones, she did not assign The Twins to Tadfield. After all, the angel Uriel was already there, assigned to monitor the angel Aziraphale. _

Uriel’s loathing of Michael’s smooth diversion of blame is obvious.

_And then it was my turn in the hot seat. Gabriel demanded to know why I hadn’t even visited the parish hall, as the Angel Aziraphale and his “filthy demon lover” certainly had._

_“Filthy demon lover?” _Crowley laughs.

Aziraphale is turning pink. He murmurs,

_Perhaps he was referring to our appearance at the Christmas bazaar. I recollect eating a malasada in front of him. He finds human food disgusting._

Aziraphale neglects to mention Crowley’s surreptitiously reaching over and tweaking the statue’s streamlined gold penis.

Adam again gives Crowley a look, but says nothing. Uriel continues:

_I explained that I had not been in Tadfield for the past few weeks, as the angel Aziraphale had been in London and up north in Edinburgh during that time._

Crowley smirks:

_You seem to have quite an amazing talent for prevarication, Uriel. Didn’t think you angels could do that. Good show._

_I don’t know about that. Michael looked distinctly skeptical. But then, she always does give one the feeling that there’s some sort of goo on one’s shirt._

_Michael asked Gabriel if she could speak with him privately, and he dismissed the rest of us. _

_The Twins and I had tea in a café as far from the Main Office as we could get and still have a decent cuppa. They revealed that they were secretly glad Gabriel had gotten a whipping from The Almighty, as they did not at all approve of his humiliation of Aziraphale before the demons of The Fallen. They were especially disturbed to learn that Aziraphale, like Gabriel, had been conscious the whole time. Considered such cruelty completely unwarranted. Were still mad about the discorporation of their staff, and complained at length about the Quartermaster Angel’s ridiculous bureaucracy. And that’s all I know for now._

Crowley speaks first.

_Uriel, is turning someone into a statue a common punishment among the Heavenly Host? Because I must tell you, that’s never been done in Hell, and we have some extensive expertise in punishments._

_No, Crowley, it is not. The Twins expressed considerable surprise that Gabriel had done such an incorporation to Aziraphale. They wondered where he’d gotten the idea._

_Sodom and Gomorrah, maybe. I recollect your lot turning humans into pillars of salt._

_Perhaps. Seems unlikely, though. I’ll try to find out. Someone must know. Maybe that bastard Sandalphon._

Adam speaks.

_So it was Beelzebub who burned down the parish hall, Crowley?_

_Almost certainly. She threw something pretty extreme around, judging from the damage. Looked like an explosion. But – and this is an odd thing – by demolishing the hall, she also released Gabriel from his prison days before his sentence was up. The vicar told Aziraphale and me that the statue was on loan to the parish for 30 days. Maybe The Almighty used Beelzebub to let Gabriel off early for good behavior. She’s ineffable like that._

Georgia, a veteran of law enforcement bureaucracies, asks

_Uriel, have you received any change in orders? Were you given any official reprimand?_

_Haven’t heard a peep since I left Gabriel’s office, Georgia. I think we’re all holding our breath, waiting to see how Michael tames Gabriel._

_So she’s the one who runs the show for him, is she?_

_Absolutely. Michael’s strong and impressive, but she’s the one with the brains. _

Crowley murmurs:

_Possibly the statue idea came from Michael, then?_

_I don’t think so. Michael is ruthless, but she’s not cruel. _

Aziraphale swallows to get command of his voice, then speaks:

_I remember Michael’s expression when Gabriel . . . turned me into a statue. She was very surprised. And it takes a lot to astonish her, I can tell you. Uriel is correct about her usual stern demeanor._

_So perhaps Gabriel thought up this bright idea all by himself? Thought he was being clever? Didn’t realize someone would be sentient even if paralyzed as a statue? _

Uriel smiles. Thinks a moment, then replies,

_And then he got a little lesson from The Almighty about running things past Michael first? I’d like that to be what happened._

* * *

Heaven. Gabriel’s office.

Gabriel is seated in his executive chair, fists clenched upon his desk. Michael comes up behind him, puts her hands on his shoulders and gently massages him. Then runs her fingers through his hair.

_Beelzebub did more than threaten you, didn’t she, Gabriel_

Gabriel nods.

_Are you going to be all right? _

Gabriel relaxes and sits back in his chair.

_Yes. Have to go barefoot for awhile as penance. I had no idea that Aziraphale would be conscious as a marble statue. Thought it was a good way to humanely imprison him for awhile until we could break that damned demon’s hold over him. _

_The Almighty’s directive is that we are to ignore that pair._

_Yes. I really fucked that up, didn’t I._

_The result could have been far worse._

They both contemplate plunging through space and into a flaming blue pool of molten sulfur. Gabriel sighs, then shrugs.

_“You win some, you lose some.” . . . What’s that screen on the wall by the couch?_

_I had an entertainment system installed while you were away. _

Gabriel glances nervously at The Portal. Michael reads his thoughts.

_Let’s save The Sound of Music for formal occasions. Have you ever seen the movie “Star Wars”? We have some time before the next meeting on the schedule._

Gabriel loves the movie.

* * *

Michael goes off with Baraquiel to meet the South American delegation before escorting them into the office for their report.

Gabriel reaches into a gold embroidered pouch suspended inside his dalmatic. Taps a red phone once.

_Prince. Thanks for the freeing me from the statue. I still love you._

A moment elapses.

_Fuck off, Messenger Boy._

Gabriel smiles as the call disconnects.

* * *

Crowley and Aziraphale work out some anxiety about statues in _Crowley Gets a New Look_: _Levitation._

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/51489958>


	59. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I prefer John Aler with Leonard Slatkin and the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra.  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2elkR4NnvxI\

London. The lounge of Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Aziraphale and Crowley are seated companionably on the couch, holding hands as they sip a glass of port.

_I say, Crowley, I’ve been meaning to ask you. There are some performances of Carmina Burana coming up next year. Should I purchase tickets?_

Crowley gets an odd look on his face. Then . . .

_I can do every song. _

He finishes his port, puts the glass down on the end table, rises and stands with his back to the flat screen. Extends his arms a bit, and begins to sing. Crowley has a beautiful tenor. Does the chorus as a baritone. He can definitely belt it out, with vibrato fit for a stage. Gets the little high triplets just right.

Olim lacus colueram, Once I lived on lakes,

olim pulcher extiteram, once I looked beautiful

dum cignus ego fueram. when I was a swan.

Miser, miser! Misery me!

modo niger Now black

et ustus fortiter! and roasting fiercely!

Girat, regirat garcifer; The servant is turning me on the spit;

me rogus urit fortiter; I am burning fiercely on the pyre:

propinat me nunc dapifer, the steward now serves me up.

Miser, miser! Misery me!

modo niger Now black

et ustus fortiter! and roasting fiercely!

Nunc in scutella iaceo, Now I lie on a plate,

et volitare nequeo and cannot fly anymore,

dentes frendentes video: I see bared teeth:

Miser, miser! Misery me!

modo niger Now black

et ustus fortiter! and roasting fiercely!

Seeing the look upon Crowley’s face as he finishes the song, Aziraphale leaps off the couch and embraces the demon. Holds him tightly until his rapid breathing slows and eventually stops.

What floats through Aziraphale’s mind is Michael’s statement when he stood before her, Gabriel, Barraquiel and The Twins during his interrogation, just before Gabriel turned him into a marble statue:

_He was a Seraph. One of Lucifer’s hangers-on. Helped Lucifer spin galaxies. His body was six wings, plumage, and a face so he could sing in The Presence. Used to go around perched upon Lucifer’s shoulder like a bird. _

And a remark of Crowley’s echoes remorselessly:

_Looked pretty much like a piece of burned hawser when Lucifer and Beelzebub fished me out of the lake of fire. Could only slide around on my belly. Crawly._

* * *

Continues in a more Explicit chapter of _Crowley Gets A New Look: _Fallen, Afterward

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/51568915>

* * *

I prefer John Aler with Leonard Slatkin and the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra.

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2elkR4NnvxI>

But there’s also:

Rudolf Petrak with Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra, if you like a touch of falsetto:

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-IcNrQxO-e4>


	60. Eric

Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Early morning.

_Angel, I have to make a short business visit. Then we’ll head back to Tadfield._

_I did promise to open the bookshop by noon. Humans are so importunate._

_What, you’re selling drugs now?_

_Tch. Really, my dear. What an idea. No, the children are on holiday, and they like to congregate in the shop._

_Well then, an opportunity to introduce Eric to them. He’s coming back with us._

_Any chance you could pick up some chocolates, Crowley?_

_I’ll bet you’d like a fruitcake, too._

_Well, yes, now that you mention it. It is that time of year, after all. I’ll pick up some brandy from that importer a few blocks over. We’re nearly out._

_Take Eric with you._

Crowley goes off looking sharp in his latest Mafioso suit. Aziraphale dons his kendo uniform and works on his stances and parries, then dresses and goes on the brandy expedition with Eric. He treats the disposable demon to a cappuccino and a Cornish pasty as the nearby café. They return just as Crowley pulls up in the Bentley. He parks illegally and gets out.

_Anything inside you need to bring?_

_No. We’re all set to go._

_Hop in then._

A ragged figure slips out of nearby shadow and runs up to the driver’s side before Crowley can step back into the car. It’s another Disposable Demon Eric. He kowtows before Crowley. 

_Please, Demon Crowley, take me with you, too._

_Ssst! Get in, then._

Crowley snaps his fingers, and Eric2 now resembles Eric1 in clean and posh black garb. Eric2 is wearing a Bones & Butterfly silk scarf instead of Eric1’s fringed black cashmere scarf. The disposable demon hops into the back seat without wasting a second.

Eric1 is holding the front passenger door open for Aziraphale. Carefully closes it after the angel gets in, then pulls open the back passenger door and leaps into the back seat with Eric2. The Bentley purrs away from the curb and enters traffic. The two remain silent, not speaking until spoken to. But they grin at one another as Eric1 surreptitiously fingers Eric2’s scarf. The aroma of beef Cornish pasty fills the car as Eric2 eats the half that Eric1 saved for him, slowly, savoring each bite and not dropping so much as a crumb. He carefully inspects the wrapper, licking up the few remaining specks, and crumples it into his hand. But does not incinerate it inside the car, continuing instead to hold it in his fist until he’s outside.

Not until they’re on the backroads to Tadfield does Crowley speak.

_Is this on orders from Beelzebub?_

_No, Demon Crowley._

_Explain._

The two switch phrases between themselves, one speaking when the other one pauses briefly.

_We are . . . friends, Demon Crowley. . . . We do everything together . . . and would be sad if we were separated. . . . _

Aziraphale interjects.

_Is this with whom you’ve been sharing your pasties, Eric?_

_Yes, Angel Aziraphale._

Crowley growls.

_Well, that’s sweet. But I want to know what Beelzebub will do about this. She’s assigned you to London. How often do you report?_

_She’s assigned us to follow you, Demon Crowley . . . We report daily. . . . Do you want us to report to you first, Demon Crowley?_

_Absolutely not. You would be summoned to The Office and discorporated without delay. You report to Beelzebub first, and only to Beelzebub. _

_We share our reports . . . only among ourselves, Demon Crowley._

_Of course._

_We have learned that dance . . . that you and the angel do . . . from the video . . . taken by the one you call “Dee Dee,” Demon Crowley . . . All the Disposable Demons are doing it . . . and many of the other demons, too. . . it’s more fun than playing bones or cards . . . We of course did not share the video, Demon Crowley . . . We tell the other demons . . . it’s a dance we learned on Earth. . . They would not be pleased . . . to be doing an angel dance. . . But they do not suspect . . . because everyone knows . . . angels can’t dance. . . begging your pardon, Angel Aziraphale. . . you dance very well._

Crowley and Aziraphale exchange looks, the Bentley miraculously staying in lane and not plunging off into a field. Crowley bursts out into a horse laugh.

_Attagirl, Legion._

* * *

Tadfield. Crowley drops off Aziraphale at the bookshop, continues to Tadfield Manor and parks. The three exit the car, Eric2 incinerating the wrapper balled in his fist, blowing the soot off into the air and dusting his hands together.

_Just a reminder. I’m Demon Crowley. But if humans are present, it’s Mister Crowley. And no matter who’s present, Adam Young is always Young Master. _

He and the Erics walk to Mary’s office, where she and the performance driving track manager Jimmy Evans are waiting. The two humans rise from their chairs, Mary behind her executive desk, Jimmy alongside.

_Mary. Evans. Allow me to introduce the twins Eric. Eric, meet Mary Hodges, our Tadfield Manor general manager. And this is the legendary auto mechanic Jimmy Evans, who manages our performance driving track._

The two Erics have bowed deeply at the waist before Jimmy can extend a hand for a shake.

_They’ll be the assistants you’ve been saying you need. They have some executive assistant experience. Train them to your specifications and standards. I suggest you alternate days. Jimmy at the shop and track, Mary with management._

Mary fixes Crowley with an intent stare. She suspects exactly what these two creatures are. Crowley twitches an eyebrow, turns his attention to Evans.

_Evans, these boys may look a bit posh at the moment, but I assure you they are capable of getting their nails as greasy as the occasion demands. Teach them whatever tasks will give you the most relief. I have some plans that will require your higher level of expertise and make more demands upon your valuable time._

_Mr. Crowley, I do find it relaxing to work on the engines meself from time to time._

_Then continue to do so. The objective is to minimize your job stress. I also want them able to drive in a manner suitable to a security chauffeur. _

Delight blooms on the Erics’ faces. Crowley turns to give them a Look. They subtly shift closer together and hold hands.

_Mary, Jimmy, push whatever you need to upon the Erics. I trust you’ll find them keen and quick learners. They can room together. Staff quarters. We have one more visit to make, then I’ll drop them off here later. That is all. _

He turns and shepherds the Erics from the room, pausing at the doorway to look back at Mary and Jimmy.

_Ciao._

Mary and Jimmy look at one another. Then Jimmy steps around behind the desk and they embrace in a comforting mutual hug.

* * *

Tadfield. The bookshop. The initial burst of customers has subsided, with only a few ruthless browsers and somewhat bewildered newcomers remaining. The Them have commandeered one of the small tables away by the stacks. DeeDee is scampering around up and down the circular staircase like an animated book shelving robot, fetching and replacing things as Aziraphale directs.

Heads turn as usual when someone enters a room, but instead of quickly returning to their own business, onlookers continue staring as three extremely posh men enter the shop. Perhaps it’s the sinister air exuded by the trio.

_Crowley._

_‘Lo, Aziraphale._

The trio walk over to The Them. DeeDee skips down the staircase and crouches like a petite gargoyle in one of the Georgian chairs close to where Aziraphale is behind the sales table.

_Young Master, may I present the Disposable Demons Eric._

Crowley has a grasp on the backs of their suit jackets, and prevents them from kowtowing. Instead, they fold palms together in a prayerful gesture and bow deeply.

_This is Witch Pepper._

Pepper’s glare of outrage softens as the twin demons extend their arms and bow to her, expressions rapt.

_Young Master’s councilors, Brian and Wensleydale._

The twins dutifully wrench their gazes from Pepper and bow from the waist to the two boys.

_Eric will be working at Tadfield Manor, assisting Mary and Evans._

Wensleydale pipes up.

_You’re both named Eric? Or is that your surname? Do you have first names?_

_We answer to “Eric,” Councilor Wensleydale._

_I’d rather you call me Wensley, if that’s all right with you._

_We heed your command, Wensley._

_And now we must be off. These two need to get to work. Good day, Young Master. Pepper. Brian. Wensley._

_Will you be returning here, Crowley?_

_Yes, Young Master._

The three men turn to exit. As they pass the sales table, Crowley murmurs,

_Ciao, Aziraphale. Back shortly._

* * *

Tadfield Manor driveway. Crowley pulls up, gets out and stands by the car as the two Erics exit. 

_You’ll need a change of clothes for work on the track._

He snaps his fingers, and the pair are now attired in black jeans, trainers, t-shirts, hoodies, and inexpensive beanies and fingerless leather gloves.

_Show me you can switch back and forth._

The two demons oblige, and blink from street to posh and back. Eric1 looks down at his chest, and a psychedelic fractal pattern appears printed on his shirt. Eric2 blinks and a white Scott Move dagger and serpent print appears. Crowley murmurs,

_Hm. I like that one._

Eric1 gives Eric2 a shove.

_Suck up!_

_No! Just saw a bloke wearing one in London. Fancied it._

_Off with you._

_Yes, Demon Crowley._

The two demons bow, and run off into the entrance.

[ ](https://imgur.com/7phTxjR)   



	61. Holiday Party

[ ](https://imgur.com/nWuY1Nb)

Tadfield. Janet and Georgia’s home, decorated for a holiday party. Furniture and rugs have been cleared from the center of the lounge, should anyone care to dance. The buffet in the adjacent dining room groans with two punchbowls and assorted cookies and savories. DJ Brian has recorded the selection of tunes playing in the background. Adults present are Janet, Georgia, Uriel, Ammun, Aziraphale, Crowley, and – upon DeeDee’s request – Madame Tracy and Mr. Pickersgill, the vicar. The two Erics hang with DeeDee and the four Them.

Everyone is attired in whatever party garb they can manage, wearing their choice of deely bobber from the selection Janet and Georgia have provided instead of party crowns. DeeDee, for example, is wearing a chiffon ballerina frock and Christmas elf hat headband. Crowley and Aziraphale are dressed in suits instead of black tie – Crowley as Mafioso Banker, Aziraphale in his lavender puppy-tooth with gold silk velvet bowtie. Crowley has reluctantly selected a sparkly poinsettia and mistletoe wreath, while Aziraphale is gleefully sporting glittering gold reindeer antlers.

Crowley hates, hates, hates human parties, especially when he’s unable to foment mischief, and is looking surly. As a round of karaoke singing of holiday songs breaks out, he retreats to the buffet and pours himself a glass of cherry bounce. This is Georgia’s contribution to the festivities, the cherry tree in their back yard having had an especially bountiful summer. There are probably enough bottles in the pantry to stock a small pub.

Thus fortified, he stands in the archway to the lounge as several more songs cycle through individuals and groups of singers, depending upon who knows the words to what. Ammun, who is sitting at the edge of the group, closest to Crowley, murmurs:

_Crowley! You have a good voice. Sing something._

_No, I don’t think so._

_How about “Angels We Have Heard on High?”_

Crowley glares at Ammun. 

_I am a Seraph. I do not sing for humans._

_Oh, come on._

Ammun gives a significant glance to Uriel, and then around the room. Pointedly observing that half the attendees are not, in fact, human.

Then Crowley proceeds to nearly wreck the party.

_“Carmina Burana,” I think._

Ammun calls out:

_Hoy, everyone! Crowley's going to sing something._

Crowley removes his glasses so his yellow demon eyes are visible, and launches into “Estuans Interius.” His operatic baritone is enough to silence the room, but the fury in his expression is what has everyone spellbound, despite most of those present not understanding a word of Latin. Or, perhaps “paralyzed” would be a more accurate description of the audience reaction. Crowley’s plants would recognize the look. Mr. Pickersgill is fluent in Latin, and follows every word with growing apprehension.

Crowley finishes, and while everyone is struggling to breathe, Aziraphale rises and walks over to stand before the demon. Holds out his hands, palms up, and softly says,

_Omnia sol temperat . . ._

And Crowley sings again, Aziraphale whispering each refrain with him. Upon reaching the “Ama me fideliter” verse, Crowey takes Aziraphale’s hands. And when his song finishes, embraces Aziraphale and gives him a long kiss.

When they break apart, Aziraphale turns to the others, his face calm and gentle as if presiding at a christening:

_I think we’ll both take a glass of refreshment. Pray continue._

Crowley’s gaze hasn’t left the angel for a millisecond. Aziraphale puts his arm around the demon’s waist. They turn and walk over to the buffet. Mr. Pickersgill excuses himself to Madame Tracy and follows them.

The two Erics vault across the lounge and also follow Crowley and Aziraphale into the dining room. Before the vicar can speak, they’ve tumbled into a genuflection before Crowley, grasping his hands and kissing them.

_That was awesome! . . . De- Mister Crowley._

_You’re welcome. Rise._

Looking somewhat exasperated, Crowley slowly lifts his hands and the twin demons follow them upward until they’re both standing again. Aziraphale puts a hand on a shoulder of each Eric and steers them towards the buffet.

_Have a glass of the punch from this bowl. It’s for the adults. Very nice, I think you’ll like it. And what you do here is take one of the small plates, put a few morsels on it that you’d like to eat. Everything is delicious, of course. But I can especially recommend the puff pastry around the tiny sausages. And the brown sugar cookies. And the plum pudding, of course. The mince pies are also delectable . . . _

Mr. Pickersgill the vicar is in the meantime conferring softly with Crowley.

_Mr. Crowley. You’re not exactly what you seem to be, are you?_

Georgia has come up behind the pair and says softly,

_No, Mr. Pickersgill, he’s not. Here, have a glass of cherry bounce. _

She pours two more glasses.

_Here, Crowley. Shall we three go into the kitchen?_

The three stand out of sight around the kitchen doorway. Mr. Pickersgill murmurs,

_Mr. Crowley, are you the devil?_

_Nope. Just _a_ devil. Demon Crowley, at your service._

_I can scarcely say how ironic I find this revelation. In light of your defense of our parish hall rebuild._

_I did not burn down the hall, if that’s what you’re wondering. That was my boss._

_My lord. Dare I ask why sleepy little Tadfield has become a site of demonic activity?_

_Best not to. _

The vicar is dumbfounded. Georgia interjects:

_I didn’t believe it either, Mr. Pickersgill. I am not a religious person. Before moving here I firmly believed all tales of supernatural beings were superstitious nonsense._

_The two young men who so appreciated your singing. Are they devils as well?_

_Yes. My assistants._

_Uriel and Ammun are also angels, Mr. Pickersgill. _

_Ah. I wondered at their historic names._

The twin Erics have returned to the lounge, and others are starting to graze the buffet. They can hear Janet telling everyone the distinction between the two punch bowls, and that the teens are not to have more than a half a glass of the adult punch. Aziraphale glides in. Crowley turns to him, reaches over and dusts some cookie crumbs off the angel’s waistcoat.

_Mr. Pickersgsill. I take it Georgia and Crowley have explained our presences? I am the Principality Aziraphale._

_You are an angel._

_Yes._

_Is it normal for angels and demons to be friends?_

Crowley corrects him.

_Lovers._

Aziraphale continues:

_No, Mr. Pickersgill, it is not. We are in fact outcasts from our respective organizations._

_Mr. Crowley, was your boss, as you phrase it, seeking vengeance upon you when he burned down the parish hall?_

_Oh my no. She was after someone else entirely._

_She. _

_Beelzebub is fronting as a woman these days._

The four stand silently for a moment. Then the vicar speaks

_Well. Would it be too much to request a meeting where you could both explain all this to me in a bit more detail? I don’t mean to pry. But it seems to be something my vocation requires me to inquire into more deeply._

Crowley is looking irked, but Aziraphale reassures the vicar:

_Crowley has a busy schedule, but I’m sure he can find time for us to confer with you._

_Mr. Crowley, I’ll clear my calendar for whatever time you suggest._

Crowley grimaces. 

_We’ll be in touch, Mr. Pickersgill. And now, Georgia, would you mind if Aziraphale and I made our exit? It’s been lovely, but I feel we need to go. We’ll just slip out the back, shall we?_

_What about your coats?_

Crowley snaps his fingers, and he and Aziraphale are dressed in their overcoats and scarves.

_Best take off those antlers, Angel. I think I’ll keep the wreath, if you don’t mind, Georgia? Makes me feel rather Roman._

_Of course, Crowley._

Aziraphale murmurs some parting thanks, and a few minutes later the rumble of the Bentley’s engine can be heard fading into the distance.

_My word. Extraordinary. Is the angel in thrall to the demon?_

_Hardly. Crowley can be frightening and chaotic, as you’ve seen tonight. But you’ve also seen how Aziraphale soothes him. Yang and yin. _

_What about Mr. Fell’s niece DeeDee. Is she also an angel?_

_Some bad news for you, Mr. Pickersgill. She’s a little demon._

_But she’s such a cheerful, impetuous child. Surely she’s not evil?_

_I wonder if the division between Heaven and Hell is not so straightforward as has been presented to us, Mr. Pickersgill. _

_Does Madame Tracy know? She seems to have had some prior connection with Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley._

_No, she is not aware of DeeDee’s nature. As to her prior connection with Crowley and Aziraphale, they won’t speak of it. I believe they assisted her in . . . hm, not sure how to say this . . . selectively not remembering whatever the events were. I would not press her, Mr. Pickersgill._

_Let sleeping dogs lie, eh? Or perhaps the confidentiality of the confessor?_

_I don’t know. Whatever it was, seems best to not stir up suppressed memories. Especially because Sergeant Shadwell also seems to have been involved._

_She was quite attached to him._

_So it seems. She’s fortunate you’re here to provide companionship to her now that he’s gone._

_And DeeDee, of course. The child has been a . . . well, I can’t exactly say “godsend,” now can I?_

They both laugh, the vicar with only the barest trace of hysteria.

Ed Sheeran's _Shape of You_ and shouts of laughter trickle in from the lounge. The five teens, Erics, and Uriel are salsa dancing.

* * *

Who's wearing which headband, do you think?

Leonard Slatkin with the St. Louis Philharmonic

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-I9UGrw9E4>

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mpr0_J9bHfI>

** _Estuans interius (Burning Inside)_ **

_Estuans interius_

| 

_Burning inside_  
  
---|---  
  
_ira vehementi_

| 

_with violent anger,_  
  
_in amaritudine_

| 

_bitterly_  
  
_loquor mee menti:_

| 

_I speak to my heart:_  
  
_factus de materia,_

| 

_created from matter,_  
  
_cinis elementi_

| 

_of the ashes of the elements,_  
  
_similis sum folio,_

| 

_I am like a leaf_  
  
_de quo ludunt venti._

| 

_played with by the winds._  
  
_Cum sit enim proprium_

| 

_If it is the way_  
  
_viro sapienti_

| 

_of the wise man_  
  
_supra petram ponere_

| 

_to build_  
  
_sedem fundamenti,_

| 

_foundations on stone,_  
  
_stultus ego comparor_

| 

_the I am a fool, like_  
  
_fluvio labenti,_

| 

_a flowing stream,_  
  
_sub eodem tramite_

| 

_which in its course_  
  
_nunquam permanenti._

| 

_never changes._  
  
_Feror ego veluti_

| 

_I am carried along_  
  
_sine nauta navis,_

| 

_like a ship without a steersman,_  
  
_ut per vias aeris_

| 

_and in the paths of the air_  
  
_vaga fertur avis;_

| 

_like a light, hovering bird;_  
  
_non me tenent vincula,_

| 

_chains cannot hold me,_  
  
_non me tenet clavis,_

| 

_keys cannot imprison me,_  
  
_quero mihi similes_

| 

_I look for people like me_  
  
_et adiungor pravis._

| 

_and join the wretches._  
  
_Mihi cordis gravitas_

| 

_The heaviness of my heart_  
  
_res videtur gravis;_

| 

_seems like a burden to me;_  
  
_iocis est amabilis_

| 

_it is pleasant to joke_  
  
_dulciorque favis;_

| 

_and sweeter than honeycomb;_  
  
_quicquid Venus imperat,_

| 

_whatever Venus commands_  
  
_labor est suavis,_

| 

_is a sweet duty,_  
  
_que nunquam in cordibus_

| 

_she never dwells_  
  
_habitat ignavis._

| 

_in a lazy heart._  
  
_Via lata gradior_

| 

_I travel the broad path_  
  
_more iuventutis_

| 

_as is the way of youth,_  
  
_inplicor et vitiis_

| 

_I give myself to vice,_  
  
_immemor virtutis,_

| 

_unmindful of virtue,_  
  
_voluptatis avidus_

| 

_I am eager for the pleasures of the flesh_  
  
_magis quam salutis,_

| 

_more than for salvation,_  
  
_mortuus in anima_

| 

_my soul is dead,_  
  
_curam gero cutis._

| 

_so I shall look after the flesh._  
  
_\-----------------------------------------------_

** _ Omnia sol temperat _ **

_Omnia sol temperat_

| 

_The sun warms everything,_  
  
---|---  
  
_purus et subtilis,_

| 

_pure and gentle,_  
  
_. . ._

_Ama me fideliter,_

| 

_Love me faithfully!_  
  
---|---  
  
_fidem meam noto:_

| 

_See how I am faithful:_  
  
_de corde totaliter_

| 

_with all my heart_  
  
_et ex mente tota_

| 

_and with all my soul,_  
  
_sum presentialiter_

| 

_I am with you_  
  
_absens in remota,_

| 

_even when I am far away._  
  
_quisquis amat taliter,_

| 

_Whosoever loves this much_  
  
_volvitur in rota._

| 

_turns on the wheel._


	62. Crowley and Evgeny Conspire

London. Inside the bunker at Triple S Security. Crowley and Evgeny are seated in their executive chairs behind Evgeny’s desk. Crowley is wearing his latest Mafioso Banker attire and extravagant Patek Philippe watch. Evgeny gets out the bottle of very special vodka and two tall little glasses.

_I see you have recovered from your adventures, my brother._

_Yes. Back in black. _

_Nice watch._

_Yep. Liked the rose gold with my hair and shirt. While I was watch shopping, I picked up a couple for you and Bohdan as well. Let’s call them Christmas presents._

He snaps his fingers, and two forest green boxes appear on the desk. Evgeny opens them, to reveal two Rolex “Sky Dweller” watches in stainless and tungsten blue.

_Fun little toys. Got the gold and silver version for Aziraphale. Just seemed like something an angel should own. And no worries, no company funds were expended upon these trinkets. Just thought it might be useful to have something to flash next time we deal with the corporate suits. _

Evgeny gives Crowley an inquiring look.

_Do you read minds? Bohdan surprised me the other day by telling me about this “Sky Dweller.” One of his Chinese network chums was gloating over his. Bohdan always wants software and circuitry stuff. Hit me sideways that he might covet a wristwatch, of all things. _

_Watches are about the only pretty thing serious men are allowed to wear nowadays. And of course the mechanics are exquisite. Just to reassure you, I don’t read minds . . . well, not often. Usually I just sense desires. Unconsciously. Temptation opportunities just occur to me._

_Like I see weakness._

_Exactly._

_Leysa sends apologies, by the way. Those three randos came out of nowhere so fast. Your shabby little friends were after them like lightning. They and Leysa have tracked them. We know who they are, where they live._

_Any useful connections?_

_Maybe. One of your little helpers is monitoring them. Leysa is checking against known gangs. They’re scared right now, lying low. Your friend who can walk through walls – one of the angels you say are living at your farm? The woman in the pair who rescued Aziraphale?_

_Yep. That’s a somewhat rare talent, even among us supernatural beings. _

_The little fluffy haired demon can also do it, Leysa tells me._

_Yep again. _

The two are silent for some moments, both understanding the possibilities this particular ability can provide their organization.

_I hope you’ve reassured Leysa that I’m not angry. You know I refuse to walk around with a posse. Random shit is no worry. Now if it had been a sniper, we’d have a serious problem._

_That is so. How did you return, if you can tell me?_

_That’s the main reason I’m feeling so cocky. Got called on the carpet, enjoyed the usual treatment for letting myself be discorporated. But the funny thing is, I was escorted by the janitorial staff to the boiling sulfur pools. No security guards. Still not sure if this was to humiliate me by treating me like trash, or if the lack of security was deliberate. My boss thinks at a higher level than the rest of us. At any rate, I didn’t have to fight off a security squad. I was able to escape. _

_Are escapes a common occurrence?_

_Never. I think I may be the only one. And I suspect my boss allowed it to happen. I think she’s putting me into situations to see what I can do. Extremely unwelcome attention, to say the least. So on top I’m feeling supremely pleased with myself about my escape. On the bottom, my nutsack is trying to pull itself back inside me. _

_She is infiltrating our organization, isn’t she._

_Yep. Our little demonic assistants are staying Earthside with her permission. No doubt about that. _

_Build up a dependency, then exploit it. As we do._

_Yep. Classic maneuvers never go out of style. _

_What is she after?_

_Defeat of the Heavenly Host. _

_Not harvesting souls?_

_Nah. Hell is stuffed to the tonsils with the Damned. They arrive all on their own power now, no tempting needed. She wouldn’t mind at all if Earth were seriously de-populated. Fewer incoming._

The two are again silent, contemplating the implications of this. Evgeny pours two more shots of vodka. Crowley continues:

_Boyka is adjusting well to Tadfield. She seems to have joined the bicycle crew. Baking piroshky and medovik for a local tea shop. Kalyna, not so much. Bored. Too old for the kids that hang around with Angel and me. I wondered about a boyfriend. But she says she has no real friends at all in London, so she doesn’t miss anyone in particular. _

_You believe her?_

_Tried to get a read. Nothing. She’s quiet, not exactly a beauty, and is self-conscious about being plump. Fairly normal teen. _

_Sad. So desirable, but doesn’t know it. Skin like cream. Hair like silk. Who cares that face is not supermodel._

Evgeny sighs.

_Guessing Boyka’s need for secrecy may have deterred friendships. I asked Georgia to take Kalyna with her tomorrow when she goes to ride horses. Young human females often like horses. _

Evgeny laughs.

_If I were a maiden, I’d prefer horses to men. And I don’t mean for sexy times. _

_Yep. Riding around on an enormous brute is definitely an attraction when compared to associating with human males._

_And safer._

The two look somber, thinking of Boyka.

_Or human females._

_Point taken._

They toss back one more shot of vodka.

_Let us go see Bohdan, give him his present. Next week we get back to serious work, yes? Lots of traffic during the holidays. Maybe our nets catch some fish. And that Aramco IPO, of course._

_Time for their costs of production to seriously rise, you think?_

_Could be. We now have cover, thanks to the other players. They’ll be blamed. Not us._


	63. Opportunities

Tadfield. Janet and Georgia’s home. Georgia and Crowley are seated around the kitchen table, Janet is preparing mugs of tea and coffee.

_Two coffees with cream, and one tea for me. Biscuits anyone?_

_Are they Georgia’s brown sugar cookies?_

_Why, yes._

_Then I’ll have six, if you don’t mind._

Janet opens the tin, and Crowley helps himself to half a dozen of the cookies, dunking them in his coffee as he consumes them while the three converse. As usual, he sits like a peasant, hunched with arm on the table surrounding his meal as if someone will snatch it away if he’s not watchful. When he’s finished wolfing his cookies he assumes his usual chair sprawl. 

Janet speaks.

_So, I take it your attempt to get Karen interested in horses was a complete failure?_

_Was it ever. She took one look, then spent the entire two hours in the lounge, drinking instant coffee and playing some game on her phone._

_Figured we were in trouble when she got out of the car. She took one sniff, said the place smelled like shit. Wouldn’t even follow me over to meet Boris and Angel. Didn’t want to get mud all over her boots._

_Good thing she didn’t see you after you and Boris and Angel went galloping off over hill and dale again. You really need to stop doing that, you know._

_I can’t stop them. And it was Angel that landed that hoof load of mud into my face, the little bastard._

_What do you mean, you can’t stop them? That gate didn’t open itself. _

_It was either open it or go flying off over it. Riding bareback doesn’t give you much of a seat, you know. _

_Or maybe liquoring up horses isn’t such a great idea?_

_All right you two. Let’s get back to the problem of Karen._

Georgia and Crowley each take a sip of coffee as they eye one other across the table. Crowley resumes:

_I’m taking her over to the driving track tomorrow. She said what she’d really like to do is learn how to work on cars. _

_You’re joking._

_Nope. Turns out she had a little Vespa, taught herself how to service and repair it. Has her own little set of spanners and sockets._

_What happened to the Vespa?_

_Left it in London. Too easily identified. _

_Are you going to get her a new one?_

_Not unless she asks. She’s old enough to drive a car now. Has been tooling around in Uriel’s old Mercedes. She told Uriel it was past due for an oil change, so I had her take it to Jimmy’s garage at the track. Apparently she liked what she saw there._

_Guessing a young female in Jimmy’s shop will get plenty of instructional help._

_No doubt._

_Speaking of Jimmy’s shop, you’ve got the Erics working there now, haven’t you?_

_And in the office. Both Mary and Jimmy need to train up someone competent to fill in for them in a pinch._

_Pepper tells me they were quite cautious around her at the party the other night. _

_I warned them that in this particular human culture, a female of Pepper’s age is considered too young for sex. That they were not to tempt her, no matter how attractive they find witches._

_Do you know what she told me they said to her?_

_Nope. _

_She said you told them she was likely to be pleased by any attention from them. Because human teens are notorious for not understanding consequences. Even if they’re aware of potential bad outcomes, they tend to act as if they believe bad things will not actually happen to them, personally._

_You’re not going to tell me I’m mistaken, I hope?_

_Of course not. That’s entirely accurate. Teens are very experimental and optimistic. One of their most endearing qualities._

_Unwarranted optimism seems to afflict you humans in general._

_I suppose. And at least one demon._

_Point taken._

_At any rate, Pepper said the Erics told her that, being demons and all, they _did_ have actual hard experience in bad outcomes. And lots of it. They know precisely and with dead certainty what will happen to them if they disobey Crowley. And so there is no way in Hell – literally – that they would ever tempt Pepper._

_And how did Pepper react to that?_

_Well, you can probably guess. Relieved on the one hand, miffed on the other. No young woman enjoys being told by attractive young men that they’re going to resolutely ignore her._

_Fortunately, she’s decided that they’re “old.” Ten years makes a difference at her age. _

Janet and Georgia laugh. Crowley is mystified.

_Can’t say I’ve ever noticed that, myself. You humans seem to get it on no matter what age disparities. One of your more loathsome attributes, I might add._

_Or delightful._

_Well, yes. You go to extremes that would never occur to Heaven or Hell. Fascinating, really. In a gruesome sort of way._

* * *

Tadfield. The garage of the Tadfield Manor Performance Driving Course. Two vehicles are up on the hydraulic lifts. Beneath one of them, Jimmy, the two Erics, and Karen are standing.

_Now, I’ll only show you this once. The general technique applies to all vehicles, but you’ll have to learn the differences for each make and model. . ._

On the other side of the room, two young men converse as they select tools from a rack.

_Who’s that little heifer?_

_New trainee. Name’s Karen. Fancy her?_

_Mill would have my nuts for breakfast if I did. You?_

_Same here. Bird in the hand. Thinking of popping the question soon, actually._

_No shit? Well, congratulations. Those twins, though . . ._

The two give one another significant looks, then burst into laughter.

_Double Stuff Oreo threesome?_

The two Erics turn to regard them, and the snickering abruptly stops.

_Scary bastards, aren’t they. _

_They say Crowley’s mafia._

_Aw, they say that about anyone who’s a flash dresser with a crusty attitude. Ever see a gangster in a kilt? With a boyfriend?_

_Well, no._

_There you are, then. _

* * *

Café at the driving course. The two Erics and Karen are the only occupants other than the counter person, and are seated at a far corner window.

_You two are new here, just like me? _

_Yes. We started only a short while ago. . . . Mr. Crowley wants us to learn . . . how to manage this course from the ground up._

_The moving crew in London – there were many of you there. Were you sextuplets or something?_

_You could say that._

_And you’re both named Eric. How do I tell you apart?_

_That’s not necessary. . . . We’re pretty much . . . two sides of the same coin._

_Seems a bit odd, if you don’t mind my saying so. Still, as you please._

The three all take a sip of tea.

_Are you foreigners?_

_Why do you ask that? _

_Well, you obviously don’t know that it’s impolite to stare at a woman’s chest. _

The two demons sit back and gaze at one another in apprehension. Then they speak in their back-and-forth fashion:

_We meant no offense . . . It’s just that . . . your breasts are . . . so plump and appealing._

Karen nearly spews her tea. Takes a moment to swallow.

_You must be foreigners. No Englishman would say that, ever._

_Really? . . . We did not know . . . we have only been . . . in London a little while._

_Stay focused on someone’s face when you speak to them. Don’t give them the up-and-down, don’t stare at breasts or at crotches._

_The up-and-down?_

_Like this._

Karen demonstrates.

_Ah. We heed your command._

_‘S not a command, for hell’s sake. Just a piece of advice._

_You are under . . . Mr. Crowley’s protection. . . . We are his servants._

_Really? Like, manservants?_

_Executive assistants._

_Interesting._

_How so?_

_Mr. Crowley seems a rather unusual person._

The twins regard one another.

_You had best discuss . . . that matter . . . with him._

_Oh, I’d never have the cheek to do that. I’m just saying._


	64. That Angel of the Eastern Gate

[Amazon GIF]

London. Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Aziraphale and Crowley are seated on the couch in his lounge, each sipping their way through a glass of scotch. They’re wearing their dressing gowns – Crowley in the black Escher snake silk jacquard with the shadowy red lining, Aziraphale in his hibernation-quality lavender tartan flannel with gold silk velvet lining and twisted gold tasseled cord.

_Angel, what you said about swan’s down the other night got me thinking back to our Eastern Gate days. It was so nice to simply hang out with you. Dangling our legs over the edge . . . Soaking up the sunlight. _

_Yes. Once the first storm passed, the days continued to be nice, didn’t they. I was so glad you were there. All the big important angels were off huffing around doing big important errands for The Almighty. But there I was, stuck guarding a gate. After the chickens were gone from the coop._

_Yes. You looked so lonely. And - perhaps more importantly - weaponless. You have no idea how thrilled I was than an angel would actually talk to me. Instead of frying me with a flaming sword. Could you tell I was flirting with you?_

_Well, no. There was just something carefree about that you that I immediately liked. Not a lot of insouciance in Heaven. All Very Serious Angels. You made me laugh. And you didn’t seem particularly dangerous._

_I didn’t know I was flirting, either. Pretended to myself that it was a temptation opportunity. In reality, of course, I was the one getting the business. It was such a treat, someone actually paying attention to me. Even if you were an enemy. Did you like my new body?_

Aziraphale looks uncomfortable.

_Well . . . I suppose I can admit it now. Yes. I did find you an eyeful. Even if you were a demon. Or maybe because you were a demon. Forbidden attractiveness._

_So maybe I succeeded as a tempter after all?_

_Possibly._

_Nobody ever checked to see how you were doing? No chastisement for tolerating a demon? The very demon that caused Eve’s downfall?_

_Well, The Almighty inquired about where was my flaming sword._

_What did you tell Her?_

_That I must have mislaid it somewhere._

_You _lied_ to The Almighty? _

_No! Not exactly. Perhaps prevaricated a tiny bit. _

_Ah. The start of an illustrious career of prevaricating to the higher ups. I knew there was something about you that I liked the instant we met. I was actually sad when you disappeared, you know._

Aziraphale makes a face.

_When Gabriel did finally get around to remembering me, I was pulled back to Heaven. Had to spend a couple centuries emptying wastebaskets and mopping floors. The standard punishment for screwing up on the job. It was so humiliating. _

_Too bad. I wondered where you’d gone. I kept going up on the wall to sun myself, hoping you’d show up. Felt bereft. Even though The Garden was a paradise. Stuffed full of small mammals and bird nests for snake snacks. Without you it was . . . well, lonely. The big time demons all went chasing off after the first couple, holding conferences in Pandemonium on how to despoil Earth and corrupt humans. I was left behind, like the forgotten pet. Hung around for a century or two, hoping someone would remember me. Michael finally spotted me and chased me out._

_I’ll bet that was a scene. _

_Oh yes. I can sprint as well as slither at speed. And you angels aren’t exactly speed demons. _

_Tch. Really my dear. Tell me that wasn’t intentional._

Crowley smirks.

_At any rate, I had to extend my wings to flap over the wall to make my escape from his damned burning sword. _

_Which wing set did you use?_

_The demonic pterosaur ones. Took off like a winged reptile. Better in the heat. For obvious reasons, of course._

_Where did you go?_

_I don’t remember what little camp I finally landed in. That desert was bloody hot. Took me days to traverse it. Fortunately by then the humans had invented wine. I went through two full amphorae, or whatever they were calling their clay baskets at the time. Human males swank around like they’re geniuses, but it’s the females who’ve had most of the best ideas. Starting with alcohol._

_Eve’s legacy, no doubt. _

_Yep. Didn’t catch up with you until just before The Flood. Then you got transferred to China, Ammun took over the Mediterranean, and I had to hang around with the Phoenicians and Philistines. I was so happy when you got transferred back to The Levant. Was hard to hook up with you even then, though._

_Indeed. They had me traipsing around frightful wildernesses with humans herding goats. And sheep. And donkeys. And camels. All hairy and smelly. Animal crap everywhere. Itchy clothing. Lice. Atrocious food. I never ever, ever want to eat manna or a locust again for all eternity. And then the Heavenly Host smited the only decent party towns._

_Oil massages. Fine linen. Date wine cocktails. Kebabs. That Egyptian beekeeper and her honeycomb. Palm groves with actual shade. Fucking Heavenly Host._

_Bastards, the lot of them. More scotch, please._

Crowley pours refills, and they clink glasses.

_Bollocks to Heaven._

They sip quietly for some while. Then Crowley reminisces further:

_Rome was fun, wasn’t it? _

_My word, yes. I was thrilled to be assigned to a big city at last. And then you showed up. It was perfect. _

_Don’t believe I’ve ever eaten so many oysters since._

_And dormice. With that sweet Samian wine for dessert._

_Couldn’t take the baths, though._

_Lord no. The Romans were far too tolerant of filth._

_Not to mention the assgrabbery. As if. The mere thought of consorting with a human . . ._

Crowley shudders.

More reflective sipping before Aziraphale continues:

_And then Michael shipped me off to Londinium. Once it became apparent that Nero was heading south in a major way. As if it was my fault._

_Humans do manage to pervert just about anything, don’t they. Look what he did with your little music lessons. Caligula got me a commendation, though. And I didn’t do a damned thing. Spent the whole time wandering the streets, finding places to go carousing with you._

Aziraphale downs the rest of his scotch in one long gulp. 

_Pour me a refill, will you please, Crowley?_

_You know, oysters Rockefeller is a pretty good replay of that stuff Petronius used to dish up. We could go to Falmouth this coming weekend. Someone’s sure to be serving it there. _

_With a bottle each of King of Soho gin. It’s perfect with fresh oysters. _

_Ah yes. Gin. The Romans were 1500 years too soon for that particular delight._

_Human inventiveness is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Rather makes up for the rest of their frightful behavior._

Crowley is silent for some while, looking thoughtful. Then he stands up, sheds his dressing gown, walks around the couch and back over to his massive stone desk. Flicks a finger to clear it. Lies down upon his back, hands behind his head. The chill marble feels wonderful against his hot body.

_Come and know me, Aziraphale, as they say in the Bible. Pretend we’re back on the Eastern Wall._


	65. What Really Happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Really Happened – a riff on Mark Twain’s _Letters from Earth._
> 
> [6,000 years of longing seems like an impossibly long time to us humans, but we’re not immortal. Perhaps our sense of time compares with that of supernatural being’s as a house fly’s does to ours? A century is remembered as about the equivalent of a month? In which case, Crowley and Aziraphale got it on after the equivalent of a 5-year romance.]

[Amazon GIF]

Aziraphale and Crowley are coming out of a session of Divine Ecstasy, sitting side by side atop Crowley’s stone desk, which they had been pretending was the wall atop the Eastern Gate to the Garden of Eden.

_Crowley, do you remember what really happened on the wall, back at the start of everything?_

_Sure. It left a persistent ache inside me until we discovered Divine Ecstasy. _

_Me too. And we didn’t know why._

Aziraphale snaps his fingers, and a mirage appears. It’s as if they’re once again atop the stone wall of the Eastern Gate. Blue sky and hot sun overhead, bleached desert rolling off to the horizon. Crowley stretches out and lies on his back, nude, his wings stowed. Aziraphale stands as if he has just flown in, wearing his ancient robe and snowy wings, gazing down upon the demon.

* * *

_Crawly! What. Are. You doing._

_Basking. I’m a snake. Feels great – cold stone on the backside, warm sunlight on the front._

Aziraphale seats himself at the demon’s feet, legs hanging over the edge of the wall.

_You should try it, angel._

_What?_

_Basking._

Crawly makes a slight gesture, and the angel’s robes disappear. Aziraphale gasps in shock. He looks up and around, as if fearful someone might be watching.

_Oh don’t panic. They’re all off at conferences somewhere. Haven’t spotted anyone for days. Pull in your wings, you’re making shade._

Aziraphale uneasily complies. Then after a few minutes he rolls his shoulders.

_Mm. My word, this does feel nice._

_Told you._

Crawly writhes and sits next to Aziraphale, but not touching. They sit companionably for a long while, soaking up the sun on their backs. Then Crawly murmurs:

_Angel, you know this is a new incorporation for me. Can you explain why we have these appendages?_

He gestures to his genitals, then gazes at Aziraphale’s.

_My shaft is twice as long as yours, but your balls are bigger. And your fuzz is pretty and light gold. Mine just sort of looks burnt. For obvious reasons, I suppose._

_Do you know, I’ve never given it any thought? What these things are for. They’re just there. We don’t go about without robes very often. At all, actually. Out of sight, out of mind. Human were modeled on us, of course. For all I know, most angels look like Eve._

_Leather armor is popular in Hell. At least, for the demons who can get it. Most of the lower ranks go around in rags. But you don’t see body parts hanging out there, either. Although in Hell, that’s just common sense._

_These particular parts must work differently in material beings. We certainly don’t use them to excrete liquid like humans do. _

_Or do that thing where Adam sticks his shaft inside Eve. Looks painful. She thrashes around and screams a fair bit every time he does it. Perhaps it’s one of her punishments?_

_Doubtful. Pretty sure these body parts in humans have been repurposed for material reproduction. Eve swelled up and became what Michael told me is “pregnant with child” after Adam started sticking his shaft into her. She’s making a new human. Very peculiar process, if you ask me. _

_Maybe it’s another one of those ineffable schemes of The Almighty’s._

Aziraphale turns to gaze at Crawly, who looks completely innocent.

_Possibly._

_Well, I think you’re right about the reproduction thing. I know all the animals started doing it once they watched the humans. It’s become a regular fad. And now the garden is full of small new creatures. Very tasty._

_Crawly! You haven’t been eating them?_

_Well, yes. They’re crunchy and gooey and delicious._

_Oh my lord._

_You’ve never eaten anything?_

_Well . . . a bunch of fruit once. The ones called “grapes.” Very sweet and juicy. I really liked them. Got a scolding from Gabriel, though. Told me I was polluting my celestial body with gross matter._

_Where does stuff go after we eat something, do you know?_

_I don’t know. It just seems to vanish back into firmament. Didn’t feel as if I’d been polluted. Actually felt rather nice, in fact._

_Makes me lazy if I eat a lot. Have to curl up and relax for a few days until it all disappears._

_When you’re a snake, you mean? _

_Yes. For some reason I don’t feel much like eating when I’m in my human corporation. I like drinking cold water, though. _

The two sit companionably in the sun for some more time. Then, Crawly looks thoughtful.

_Aziraphale, do your feet hurt?_

_What an odd question, Crawly. No. I’ve never felt pain in my feet._

_Mine ache a lot. Maybe because they’re new to me. _

_I could massage them for you. I healed Eve’s foot once when she stepped on some thorns. Lie back down and put your feet in my lap. We’ll see if I can make them feel better. _

Crawly is skeptical.

_I’m still a demon, you know. Are you sure it won’t hurt if you touch me? I don’t want to be accidentally smitten._

Crawly leans away in apprehension as Aziraphale extends an index finger, quickly and gently taps the demon’s thigh.

_Did that smart?_

_No. Not a bit. Not even a spark._

Crawly writhes around until he’s once again reclining on his back. Raises his legs and scoots a bit closer to the angel, slowly and cautiously lowers his feet into Aziraphale’s lap. The angel begins to gently stroke the demon’s feet and ankles, massaging each toe as if playing “This Little Piggy Went to Market.” When he presses his thumbs against the demon’s insteps, Crawly moans.

_Oh! Did that hurt? I’m sorry, Crawly._

Aziraphale raises his hands as if from a hot stove.

_No! It doesn’t hurt. Feels great. Do it some more. Please._

And just then, Crawly stiffens. Writhes to his feet, flares his wings, and rockets off back into the garden like a diving falcon.

_Incoming!_

By the time a squadron of angels can be seen zooming in, Crawly has morphed back into a snake and is racing away through the underbrush. The angels fly overhead and land in a center meadow of the garden, with the exception of Michael, who lands alongside Aziraphale.

_Aziraphale, just what do you think you are doing?_

_Um . . . Ba- . . . Uh, sun bathing. It feels good on my skin._

Michael sighs.

_Get those wings and robe back on, Aziraphale. I’m sending you back up to Gabriel._

* * *

_And that was the last time we were together until The Flood._

_Let’s go to the bedroom and stick our shafts inside each other some more._

They laugh, and run off hand in hand to the bedroom.

[Continued in the _Foot Massage _chapter of the M-rated _Crowley Gets A New Look._]

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/51973897>


	66. Hacking Heaven and Hell

Tadfield. Eric’s little office adjacent to Mary Hodge’s executive suite. The twin demons rise from their side-by-side chairs behind the desk as Crowley enters. They bow in unison

_Demon Crowley._

_At ease. Show me what you’ve got on your cell phones._

The two resume their seats. Crowley walks behind the pair until he’s standing looking over their shoulders. The twins take out their phones, tapping and scrolling in unison as Crowley observes.

_No passcode? _

_What’s that?_

_Never mind, just go to the video gallery._

_Hmmmm. Legion, you should delete these videos. Like right now. These phones are not secure. Anyone who gets hold of one could watch these videos. And you know what Beelzebub would think of that._

The Erics subtly morph as their expressions take on the appearance of an ancient, weary demon.

_You understand human constructs better then we, Prince Crowley. Your advice is welcome. _

The twin Erics proceed to tap in unison through the deletion process.

_These pictures are now gone from all of these devices._

_No one but you has ever watched them?_

_No, Prince. We are not so foolish as to have allowed that to happen._

_No insult intended, Legion. Just verifying that we’re on the same page._

_The same page?_

_That we completely agree on what the consequences to us would be if demons other than you, I, and Prince Beelzebub ever saw these pictures. _

_Ah. I understand. _

_I will show Eric how to add some safety features to your phones. Make if more difficult for anyone except you to see what’s stored on them._

_Thank you, Prince Crowley. _

Legion dissipates, and the twin Erics are now their usual keen 20-somethings.

_Eric, these videos are still on your phone until something else overwrites the storage area they’re held in. You’ll need to get the Secure Delete app. Do it now._

Some moments pass as the Erics download and implement the app to successfully erase the files.

_You’re passing this along to the rest of your crew, yes?_

_Yes, Demon Crowley. These videos are now very gone._

_Good. Now, we’re going to set up a passcode and fingerprint ID and a secure folder . . ._

* * *

London. Triple S Security. Crowley, Evgeny, and Bohdan are seated behind Bohdan’s workstation, inspecting the phone that Crowley has subtracted from one of the Erics.

_I had them set up some basic security measures, but thought you should take a look at these Hell phones. _

_Is Hell using IT managers?_

_I would be extremely surprised if that were the case. _

_How do they control phone use?_

_Intimidation, mostly. They have a different attitude toward technology. They don’t understand how it works. At all. They simply make it work the way they imagine it should. They used to send me messages over my TV and car radio. Just interrupted whatever program was on, and started talking. Guessing they use phones the same way. _

_Hm. Could we set up as the secure enterprise server?_

_Possibly. That’s why I’m here. _

_Hacking Hell. Now there’s a project one does not get every day of the week._

_Let me demonstrate the major problem._

Crowley taps the sample Hell phone with his fingertip. Instead of requiring the power button, a fingerprint, and passcode, it simply boots and behaves as if he’s the owner.

_Hm. Yes, that is indeed a difficulty. So. We can protect against humans, but not demons._

_Well, not all demons. Most don’t even have permission to use phones. And the ones that do are supremely conscious of the chain of command. What I am more interested in is surveillance._

_Ah. Of course. No point in making Hell even more secure._

Evgeny laughs.

Bohdan murmurs:

_Is classic maneuver. Appear to do a favor. Then take over. _

_Let me show you a further difficulty if we use command and control servers._

Crowley gets out his own phone, taps and swipes a few times, shows Evgeny and Bohdan the pictures. Bohdan holds out his hand for the phone.

_Here._

He transfers the pictures to a wide screen.

_Shit. What did that?_

_Who. My boss. You’re looking at the remains of the Tadfield parish hall._

_Check out the melted metal._

_Yep. The fire investigators hinted to the media that it might have been a meteor. But it’s still an open case. _

_Doubtful we have any locations secure enough to survive an explosion like that._

_Consecrated ground might work._

_What is that?_

_Places that have been blessed and are holy. Under the protection of the Heavenly Host. Churches. Mosques. Synagogues. Temples. We demons can enter, but the ground burns our feet. And more, if we stay too long._

_I am guessing you have such a place in mind in Tadfield._

Crowley grins.

_Yep. St. Cecil’s and All Angels, the local Church of England parish. The best part is, I think we could also use it to surveille Heaven. Hell is using Android, but the angels are using iPhones. Old models. _

Bohdan and Evgeny regard one another. Then Evgeny addresses Crowley.

_I admire your imagination, my brother._

Bohdan looks as beatific as if he’s just had an epiphany.

_This will be so much fun!_

_Just let’s not forget about that Hell watch, either. I don’t think either of you should physically mess with a Hell phone. I’ll take this one back to Eric. Let me know when you need it to run tests._


	67. Voltaire's Garden

Tadfield. Late Evening. Backroom of the bookshop. Aziraphale is seated in his armchair, reading, feet in fleece slippers on hassock, wool throw over his lap. He’s also bundled in his Aran sweater over a wool challis shirt, silk ascot at neck. There is likely long underwear beneath. Crowley is stretched on the settee, wearing himself. Aziraphale looks up from his book.

_Crowley, it makes me chilly just to look at you. You’re not cold?_

_Nah. Not really._

_I’m surprised. This old building gets a bit drafty in winter._

_Hot summer days bother me most. Winter actually feels pretty good. I’ll make you some cocoa._

Crowley gets up and goes to the little kitchenette, actually heats the milk, mixes the cocoa and sugar, and does the complete procedure instead of just magicking the mug full. 

_Brandy?_

_Yes, please._

Crowley hands Aziraphale his brandy-laced mug of hot cocoa, resumes his slope on the settee, sips from his brandy snifter. Snaps his fingers, and he’s wearing his soft ultraviolet Italian pullover. Just the pullover. Aziraphale raises his mug as if in a toast.

_Thank you, Crowley. Happy holidays._

_My pleasure, angel. Bollocks to holidays. Loathe solstice. I like it dark._

The two sit companionably while Aziraphale reads and drinks his cocoa and Crowley works his way through his glass of brandy. Then the angel rises, pushes the hassock with his foot over against the settee, sits on it and leans over to hug Crowley, his head on the demon’s chest.

_What is it, Crowley. You’ve been nervy all evening._

Crowley holds Aziraphale and strokes his hair as if petting a golden retriever.

_I can’t tell you, Angel. One of those plausible deniability situations. _

_Dammit, Crowley. Are you doing something criminal?_

_Angel, pretty much everything I do can be construed as criminal by someone or other. Remember that little discussion we once had about terrorists versus freedom fighters? And when we compared notes, discovered that most agents were in the employ of both Heaven and Hell? _

_Ah yes. Humans are treacherous creatures._

_And vindictive. They have nasty ways of settling scores. I think they learned it from Heaven._

_Really, my dear._

_Two words: Sodom. Gomorrah. Give me an instance of where demons have actually killed humans._

_Point taken._

_We wait until they make it to Hell before giving them the business. No point in doing extra work. Test ‘em. Tempt ‘em. Torture ‘em. The Three T’s. The humans who think they’re virtuous get punished in Heaven, of course._

_Whatever rot are you talking about?_

_You know how Inpu weighs hearts, right? _

_Broadly. _

_Well, I’ve actually sat beside him while he works. Heavy heart, you’re marched through Hell Gate, or sent up the air tube to Heaven. Light heart, you disappear into the firmament. Ffwht! Gone. Release._

_Do you know, I never actually spent much time in Heaven the past millennia since Earth was formed. Apart from those few centuries at the beginning. Couple of training sessions. Mediocre food. No decent drinks. Crowds of smug and tedious humans infesting the lounges. Celestial harmonies plinking away like elevator muzak. And you were right about The Sound of Music._

_That’s my point. It’s the self-righteous ones who go to Heaven. Their punishment is to be bored for all eternity. Get what they asked for._

Aziraphale sits up and gazes at Crowley, who continues:

_Ever wonder why we seem to have been squeezed out of both places, like pips from a lemon? I think you didn’t fit in because you actually _are_ kind and loving. As opposed to merely being a virtuous and obedient rule-follower. You try to help humans, instead of just viewing them as tallies on the scorecard._

_And you didn’t fit in because you’re not actually cruel. Wicked, yes. _

_Thank you. For a moment there I thought you were going to trot out “nice” again._

_Nevermore. You’re not nice. You’re never nice._

They both laugh.

_Do you like “sly” and “evil,” too?_

_Oh Angel, you say the sweetest things._

_Now tell me what you’re up to. I’m keen to know how I’ll be endangered next._

Crowley is silent a long moment. Then sighs.

_My business associates and I are going to try to hack the mobile phone systems of Hell and Heaven. They haven’t given up on their war, as you know. Neither Heaven nor Hell is much interested in preserving human life. They’d both be happy to depopulate the planet and not have to process so much incoming. _

_Yes. Heaven thought destroying humanity through a nuclear exchange would be “a nice start.” That’s a direct quote from Metatron._

_The level of fuckedupedness on Earth is at record level, I think you will agree. Something’s going to blow. _

_Why don’t we just retire from the fray and keep quiet?_

_I thought that’s what we did when we moved the bookshop to Tadfield. Just settle down and enjoy a quiet and pleasant eternity together under Adam’s protection. But we keep getting drawn in, don’t we. _

_My word, yes. It’s even worse than it used to be. I only got reprimands before. Not murder attempts and torture. _

_Adam doesn’t want me messing with humans. But that doesn’t mean I can’t mess with H&H. I want to know what the bastards are up to. _

_You think you can prevent some disaster from happening?_

_Absolutely not. When were we ever successful in doing that? _

_Never. Millennia of ineffective actions. Counteracting one another. Having to watch one hideous event after another unfold._

_I still haven’t gotten over the 14th century. _

_As Adam said, too much messing around. But you know, in our own bumbling way, we did botch Armageddon. _

_Do you suppose we’re the jokers in The Almighty’s solitaire game?_

_The chaos butterflies flapping their wings? _

_More like the flies in the ointment._

They both grin. Then Crowley looks anxious again.

_I can’t seem to not do mischief. A quiet life simply isn’t in me._

_Well, you’re a demon. Devilry is your job._

_I’m a demon now. But I didn’t start out that way. I just find it amusing to make trouble. Have right from the get-go. _

_Did you ever read Voltaire’s Candide?_

_Nah. The bastard was fun to hang out with, though. I could listen to him for hours. He had a great garden. Good wine cellar._

_He used that garden in the ending of Candide. One of his most famous quotes. “Il faut cultiver notre jardin.” “We must cultivate our garden.” There’s been debate ever since about just what he was getting at. Blithely sitting around imagining that everything works out for the best according to some divine plan is no good? Practical work is the solution that provides us peace of mind in a chaotic and brutal world? _

_ My garden is mischief? If so, it will likely endanger us both. And maybe more than us._

_Well, at least life won’t be dull. Any more explosions imminent, do you think? So far we’re down one helicopter and one parish hall._

_Aziraphale, sometimes you are so breathtakingly cynical._

_Just trying to cheer you up, my dear. And now, let’s slide that sweater off you._

Aziraphale snaps his fingers, his clothing disappears, and he transforms to his delicious female form. Crowley’s eyes glow orange.

_Warm me up, Crowley._


	68. Sympathy for the Devil

Tadfield. A small meeting room in Tadfield Manor. Crowley and Aziraphale are seated at a conference table. The demon is dressed in his Mafioso Banker suit and Patek Phillippe watch. Aziraphale is looking serenely dapper in his lavender mist suit and gold velvet bowtie. Mary Hodges escorts Mr. Pickersgill into the room, then exits and closes the door.

_Pleased to meet you, Mr. Crowley. Or is that indeed your name?_

_My name indeed. But what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game._

_I see you are a man of wealth and taste._

_You have courtesy, Mr. Pickersgill. But sympathy?_

_Sinners can be saints. If they have means of some restraint._

The vicar gazes at Aziraphale, who appears to be somewhat mystified by this conversational gambit. The angel turns to Crowley, who is gazing upon him with a smile of pure love.

_Ah. I understand. Please, be seated, Mr. Pickersgill. You need not fear Crowley. Nor me. _

_Must I take that upon faith?_

Crowley murmurs:

_Oh no. You’re not a man to do that, now are you._

_Alas, you are correct, Mr. Crowley. Insisting that trust must be verified is what earned me my position here._

_Sidelined to a slowly withering congregation in a small village, with a decrepit church._

_My wife was deathly ill, Mr. Crowley._

_I know._

_You have researched my history?_

_Oh yes. An amazing record. My money is on your having a light heart. But what we are here to discuss with you today is the fate of the parish hall._

_Yes. The bishop has informed me of the church’s decision to sell the property to a developer. I had hoped you would be able to prevent such an outcome, Mr. Crowley._

_No need to feel disappointed, Mr. Pickersgill. That developer is me. During my real estate investigations of Tadfield Manor, I discovered that your vicarage was, historically, in the gift of the manor. I suggested to the bishop that restoring this connection to Tadfield Manor would provide a source of funds to maintain the parish._

_I don’t understand, Mr. Crowley. _

_Mr. Pickersgill, St. Cecil’s revenue is barely sufficient to keep the church building in repair. It is unlikely in the extreme that your parishioners would be able to service a bond to rebuild the parish hall. A two million pound project is not something to be financed through bake sales and holiday festivals. Especially when St. Cecil’s congregation is aging and diminishing._

_I am of course painfully aware of that, Mr. Crowley._

_Quite. So is your bishop. He and his superiors were already susceptible to the idea of getting rid of the property to a developer. I merely presented them with ownership by Tadfield Enterprises as an offer they could not refuse. We negotiated an acceptable and prompt sale._

The vicar is silent and thoughtful for some moments.

_You researched more life histories than mine, Mr. Crowley?_

_Oh yes. The records my employer keeps are quite specific for certain categories. Very useful when presenting a moral argument._

Crowley reflects how Legion had surreptitiously managed to get access to Dagon’s files for Pickersgill’s superiors. They were far more interesting reading than the vicar’s.

_My my. I must say, Mr. Crowley, that assistance for St. Cecil’s from such a source is not something I would ever have expected. Not in a million years._

_I do of course expect a small favor in return._

The vicar laughs.

_My soul is indeed a small sprat. Hardly seems worth such effort._

_Oh, don’t worry about that. Hell is stuffed with souls. Faustian bargains were never my realm of expertise. Your soul is safe from me. What I want is permission to place a small computer within the bounds of St. Cecil’s church. _


	69. Bad Angels

Tadfield. Kitchen of the old farmhouse at Crowley’s Croll Farm. Uriel, Ammun, and Crowley are seated around the table, upon which components for rack mounted servers are placed.

_So what’s up with the human computer stuff, Crowley?_

_I’m setting up a surveillance system for mobile phone traffic. One for Heaven, one for Hell._

There is a long moment of silence as the two angels sit back in their chairs and regard Crowley.

_Is that really possible?_

_Don’t know yet, Uriel. We’ll have to find out. _

_Crowley, was this approved by your boss?_

Crowley’s face twists into a snarl.

_What do you think? She liked the idea so much she tormented me until I nearly discorporated?_

_Sorry. ‘Twas a really stupid question. But what if she finds out? Look what she did to the parish hall._

_That’s the main reason we’re placing the Hell rig inside St. Cecil’s. Consecrated ground. Got Mr. Pickersgill to sign on. There’s a bricked-up crypt he thinks we could use to keep the setup out of sight. That’s where you come in, Uriel. _

_Ah. I can get it through the wall._

_Yes. That little talent of yours. DeeDee can do it, too, but of course she can’t set foot inside the church. I’ll show you how to assemble it and check the set-up._

_Won’t it require some sort of electrical power cable?_

Crowley smiles snakily.

_That’s where my little talent comes in. It will be powered and connected because I want it to be._

The two angels again regard him silently. Crowley may be a snake, but he’s still a Seraph, with powers not possessed by Thrones and archangels.

_Uriel, you haven’t been using your Heaven phone, have you?_

_No. It’s in the drawer over there._

_Let’s have it._

Uriel rises and fetches the phone, hands it to Crowley. He taps it, and it comes alight.

_You keep it charged?_

_No, I don’t. _

Uriel thinks a moment.

_Heaven phones don’t need an electrical connection, the same way your server system doesn’t?_

_Good call, Uriel. Might be interesting to find out who’s managing the system._

_Probably that bastard Quartermaster Angel. I’ll see if The Twins know._

_That would be good. Best not to ask them directly about Heaven’s phone system, of course. In case this all goes south in a hurry. _

_Trust me, Crowley. My wings are the ones that will get clipped if they start connecting dots._

The demon has been tapping and scrolling through the phone as he speaks, silently noting the lack of passcode protection.

_I’d like to borrow this for a day, Uriel. To show my human partners so we can set up the surveillance system more easily. I see you haven’t gotten any calls or messages for awhile._

_No. The Twins have promised to keep me alerted if anything develops regarding Aziraphale and Tadfield. But I haven’t heard from them since we had tea after Gabriel’s tantrum._

Crowley looks up briefly.

_You got some sort of rogering from Gabriel after the parish hall incident, right?_

Uriel makes a face.

_Gabriel thinks he’s spanked me by making me stay on duty here. I quote: “It is apparent that your surveillance abilities are in want of improvement, Uriel. You will continue your Tadfield assignment until I see evidence of progress.” _

_What about you, Ammun?_

_Oh, I’m supposed to be hanging out in London, helping out Uriel. Haven’t heard a peep from anyone._

_Aren’t you curious why they didn’t summon you to report about Uriel’s screw-up?_

_Got a cagey call from Michael right after Gabriel returned from Tadfield. Asked what I knew about happenings in Tadfield. I said I hadn’t heard anything exciting from that sleepy little backwater. Just those pissants Aziraphale and his demon Crowley still fookin' each other._

Crowley smirks.

_They aren’t tracking you? They can’t tell you were lying?_

_Prevaricating._

_Right. Prevaricating. Can I take a look at your Heaven phone, Ammun?_

_Nope. Left it in London._

_Good. Keep it there. Same model as Uriel’s?_

_Don’t know._

Crowley has been maintaining a bland expression throughout, does not so much as blink, let alone roll his eyes.

_I’ll swing by sometime to have a look at it._

Uriel has been looking puzzled.

_Crowley, just how does cell phone tracking work? _

_Couple of ways. First, humans have built a system to register and track geographic location. They call it “GPS,” for “Global Positioning System.” Handy for navigating around the planet._

_Oh. So that’s how my car’s navigation system works?_

_Yep. Also very handy if someone is interested in where you are, where you’ve been, and where you might be going._

_Don’t they object to such constant surveillance? _

_Surprisingly, most seem to think it’s a neat trick. Humans are overly trusting that those doing the surveilling are good actors. They never learn. Just like some angels._

_Point taken. Years ago I’d have whipped out my sword and fried your demonic ass for a remark like that. Now . . ._

Uriel sighs. Crowley smirks:

_Some of us do live and learn, don’t we? But to continue about tracking. Even if the GPS is turned off, a phone can still be traced from where it contacts the towers._

_Towers? _

_Phone transmissions don’t just go off into the firmament. The humans have set up a network of towers to catch the signals and route them where they’re supposed to go. A phone contacts the transmission tower closest to it. These contacts are logged. And the logs can be consolidated to show movement and travels._

_My word, the amount of record keeping must be extraordinary. Half of humanity has a mobile phone!_

_They use their computers to manage the data, of course. And it’s not just phones. You know about their Internet, of course?_

Uriel looks indignant.

_Of course I know._

_Use it much?_

_Well, Wikipedia, mostly. And finding gallery openings and shows. And restaurant reviews._

She looks a trifle defensive.

_Ammun and I enjoy human food. _

_And liquor._

Crowley gives a significant look to Ammun.

_Kief? Hashish?_

_Of course. One of the benefits of being stuck for millennia in North Africa and the Middle East._

_Find a supplier from an Internet search, by any chance? If you did, someone knows all about it. _

Uriel and Ammun look uneasy.

_I don’t suppose you have any around right now?_

_The shisha’s in the living room._

Crowley snaps his fingers, and a small box appears in his hand. He smiles snakily.

_Let’s go light it._

Ammun laughs.

_Trust a demon to have the good stuff._


	70. Apocalypse Next

Tadfield. A small conference room in Tadfield Manor. The four Them and Crowley are seated around the table having tea. Conspicuously absent are DeeDee and the twin Erics.

_Young Master. We now own the site of the former parish hall. Requests for proposals for a new community center are currently awaiting response from various architectural firms. _

_Next. The vicar has agreed to place the Hell server in a bricked-in crypt at St. Cecil’s. The angel Uriel will see to its installation and monitoring. The Heaven server will be in my office in the old farmhouse at Croll Farm. I’ll be meeting with my business partners tomorrow to finalize the installation and security procedures. The servers will be ready and waiting until Uriel can transmit the infection into the Heaven system. We’ll test the connection with Hell first. See if it goes undetected._

_Next. Aziraphale and I are nearly at the 100 hours mark for our private helicopter pilot certifications. I expect we’ll be night flying qualified before spring._

_You haven’t mentioned this helicopter pilot thing before, Crowley._

_Been working on it ever since I had to blow up my EC-135 to get rid of Hastur and Sandalphon. Have a new H-160 on order, but it won’t be deliverable until sometime this coming year. In the meantime, Angel and I passed the exams earlier this year. You’ve seen that little Guimbal Cabri G2 buzzing around the driving course, right? That’s my pilot Ewan working with us for training and flight hours._

Silence all around the table as the four kids digest the implications of this. Pepper speaks first.

_Crowley, Aziraphale won’t even drive a car. How did you persuade him to fly a helicopter?_

_Oh, he’s much more at ease with the notion of flying. Thinks it’s fun. He actually worked through the math problems on the exams. _

_Instead of cheating?_

_I don’t cheat. Your human maths are intuitive to me. I can see the answers before the calculator works through the equations. Angel simply enjoys working out puzzles. Never misses the Times crossword. He’s the one who figured out where Armageddon was supposed to happen, you know. Humans had been working on the problem for 300 years. Angel cracked it in less than 24 hours._

Wensleydale pipes up:

_Mr. Crowley, would it be possible for me and DeeDee to learn to fly your little helicopter? _

Crowley regards him for a long moment. Then:

_I don’t see why not, Wensley. You won’t be able to be certified until you’re 16, of course. I trust you’ve already researched the exam requirements?_

_Oh yes. Would Mr. Aziraphale help us work through the study materials?_

_I’m sure he’d be delighted._

_And I’ve been watching YouTube videos of your Cabri G-2. It’s quite a beautiful machine, isn’t it?_

_A sweet little toy indeed. I’ll have Ewan take you up in it. Check with Mary to arrange a time._

_Can DeeDee come with me?_

_Yes. Remind Mary that the bird is a two-seater, so two separate trips. _

_Wicked! Thank you, Mr. Crowley._

_Before you actually learn to fly, of course, your parents must give permission. And I insist that you learn with either Aziraphale or me. It would be asking too much of Ewan to take responsibility for a minor._

Crowley raises an index finger to lift all the teacups off the table.

_Angel and I are not worried about crashing. So you’d be safer with us. _

Crowley looks across the table at Brian.

_Speaking of flying, how’s the drone practice coming? Everything holding together? No more crashes?_

_The Phantom 4 Pro is awesome, Crowley! I can pretty much make it do whatever I want now._

_Keep up the good work. Let me know when you think you’re ready to try something more capable._

* * *

Tadfield. Back room of the bookshop. Aziraphale enters, is confronted by the sight of Crowley lying on his back on the Persian carpet in front of the armchair, with his knees raised so his lower legs are resting atop the seat cushion. As is his wont, the demon has shed his clothing onto the valet. 

_Rough day, Crowley? You’d like me to rub your feet?_

_Too obvious, am I?_

_Let me pour a glass of sherry. Then I’ll be at your service._

Aziraphale swaps his jacket for his shawl collar cardigan, boots for tartan fleece slippers. Gets his sherry. He and Crowley arrange their legs, Crowley’s feet atop a pillow in Aziraphale’s lap. 

_I’ve been reading up on foot massage. And watching some instructive videos on YouTube. You’ll let me know if something feels especially good, won’t you?_

_Mm. Thanks, Angel._

Aziraphale sets to work. It all feels good. Crowley makes little sighing noises, slowly relaxes into boneless gelatin. And falls asleep. Aziraphale looks around, magics the qiviut blanket over the demon. Then summons the bottle of sherry onto the table next to his chair, and refreshes his glass. Resumes his place in the book he’s been reading – his second-best original copy of the 1942 edition of D’Arcy Thompson’s _On Growth and Form._ He’s removed and carefully stored the dust jacket, replacing it with a polyester cover to protect the book while it’s being read. 

Hours later, Crowley comes to. Snakes his legs around and gets up, pours himself a glass of scotch from the decanter set on the small table, plumps the two giant pillows atop carpet, and stretches out.

_Crowley, you’re making me cold just looking at you._

_Oh, all right._

The demon pulls the blanket back atop himself.

_That’s better. Thank you._

_I got this for you, you know._

_Hm. I am feeling a bit chilly, now that you mention it._

_Come and snuggle up next to me._

Aziraphale notes the page number in his book, closes it. Snaps his fingers to vanish his clothing into the closet. Crowley raises the blanket, and the angel lies alongside him, head on Crowley’s shoulder and arm across the demon’s chest. Crowley tosses back his scotch with one hand, caresses the angel’s wooly hair with the other. Puts down his empty glass, strokes Aziraphale’s back.

_You’re worrying about something, aren’t you, Aziraphale. _

_Hard not to worry about bringing the wrath of Heaven and Hell down upon our heads, Crowley._

_Hm. Yes. Us, four teens, half a dozen renegade demons and angels, and a handful of other humans versus ten million angels and 10 million demons. _

_You forget the half of humanity bent upon destroying Earth._

_You think it’s as much as half?_

_I worry that it’s more than half. _

_You could be right. Hard telling with humans. Still, fomenting trouble is more fun that sitting around with our thumbs up our asses, as the humans say. If we could do that. What’s the supernatural man-shaped being equivalent of that posture, do you think?_

_Being Gabriel._

Crowley horse laughs.

_Michael being the hand up his ass?_

_Exactly. I wonder what she’s plotting. At the same time, I’m afraid of what your hacking might reveal. If Heaven isn’t doing anything to help humans save Earth, that would be bad. But I fear it’s equally likely Heaven is doing something to help destroy Earth. _

_Well, at least there’s no ambiguity about Hell’s part in all that. Wrecking Earth and humanity has been the main science project since day one._

_Where is Agnes Nutter when we need her? When is the Apocalypse really going to happen? _

_No word from Anathema. Maybe the old bat finally took off from partying in Hell and took off into the firmament. _

_How do you know she’s in Hell? Did you see here there?_

_Nope. Just know that witches get the royal treatment in Hell. First level, demons at their beck and call. How long they stick around before vanishing into the firmament depends on their commitment to their pals and family on Earth. Agnes might be hanging on out of pure stubbornness._

_She seems like that kind of hard-boiled person, all right. And I confess I am grateful to her for that warning about the booby-trapped watch._

_Well, fortunately we don’t have to rely on a flaky old bat for guesses about what’s coming down the pipe. The humans have developed their extraordinary Internet, about which H&H doesn’t seem to have a clue as to how it all works. Let’s hope this H&H hack delivers the goods. I expect to be in the London office all day tomorrow, as we finish trying to run down loose security threads and cover our tracks. _

_You can erase all clues, rub off all the fingerprints?_

_Nope. It’s a chaotic system. But we can patch the known leaks. And hope we haven’t left too obvious a trail of crumbs._

Crowley neglects to elaborate on how it won’t be merely angels and demons after him and his business associates if they get careless in any of their projects.

_Oh, Crowley._

Aziraphale clutches Crowley as if trying to pull the demon inside himself. Crowley returns the iron embrace. And then the glowing warmth of ecstatic love washes over them and carries them off like a tropical rip current.


	71. Madame Tracy

Tadfield. 5:00 on a winter morning, dark and overcast, raining steadily. Crowley is dressed for London, and is preparing to depart when his phone gives a distinctive boink. 

_DeeDee. What’s up._

_Demon Crowley! You must come quickly. Madame Tracy is very sick. _

_I have to go to London. But Aziraphale can do healings. We’ll leave now. See you in five minutes._

Crowley disconnects.

_That was DeeDee. Madame Tracy is very ill. _

_I heard the part about healings. Let us be off, without delay._

Azirphale snaps his fingers, and his dressing gown and slippers transform into his favorite day wear slacks, Fair Isle vest and jacket. Plus a mackintosh.

The pair trot out of the door and toward the Bentley. Crowley, as usual, arrives completely dry without so much as a drop of rain splashing him. Opens the passenger door for Aziraphale, snapping his fingers as the angel gets in to dry the rain off the mackintosh. Then runs around to the driver’s side and gets in.

_Thank you, Crowley. _

_I don’t understand why you bother with a raincoat. You can keep dry just as well as I can._

_I wouldn’t have allowed your leather seats to get wet._

_I know that, Angel. I just don’t understand why you do things the hard way._

_Keeping up appearances, I suppose. Behaving as a human would._

_Yeah. Well, there is that. I guess. Now that we have to hang around with them more or less constantly._

Moments later the Bentley rumbles up before Madame Tracy’s cottage. Crowley vaults out, zips around to open the passenger door, and the pair hurry down the little path to where DeeDee is waiting at the door. Aziraphale drapes the once-again-rained-upon mackintosh over a coat peg, and they all bustle off toward Madame Tracy’s bedroom.

Lying in her fluffy pink bed, she looks feverish and frail. Eyes flutter open as they enter the room, but she can’t manage to speak. Aziraphale pulls up a dainty boudoir chair from before the dressing table and parks alongside the bed. Feels her forehead, lays an ear upon her chest.

_Pneumonia. Her lungs are rattling. She’s burning up with fever._

The angel flutters his hands over her as he breathes softly into her face. Madame Tracy visibly revives, opening her eyes wide as she takes a deep breath, her normal color returning. 

_Oh. Thank you, Mr. Fell. It doesn’t hurt when I breathe now._

_I think we had better get you to hospital._

_Oh no! Such a frightening place. I feel much better now. Really I do._

_I believe you should be examined by a physician. They may require an overnight stay just to be sure you are strong enough to continue your recovery at home. _

DeeDee pipes up:

_I’ll stay with you, Madame Tracy. You won’t be all alone._

_Angel, I have to get to London. Why don’t you stay here. Call Pickersgill to take you three to hospital. He might even be up now. Doesn’t he have to pray matins or some such thing? _

_I left my phone at the shop, Crowley._

Giving Aziraphale a Look, Crowley snaps his fingers and the angel’s phone appears on the lamp table next to the bed.

_Make the call, Angel._

Holding the slim little mobile phone in front of his face as if he’s not quite sure which end is up, Aziraphale works through the facial recognition unlock and voice command, enunciates carefully to say “Call Pickersgill.” Is chuffed when the call actually goes through.

_Mr. Pickersgill, this is Mr. Fell. DeeDee summoned Crowley and me to Madame Tracy’s side. She was seriously ill with pneumonia, but is better now. However, I think she should be taken to hospital. . . . No, her condition no longer warrants an ambulance. But I nonetheless think she should be checked by a physician. Crowley has an urgent appointment in London, and I do not drive. . . . Thank you so much, Mr. Pickersgill. We will have DeeDee pack a small bag just in case they keep Madame Tracy overnight. For observation, or whatever they call it. They will no doubt provide her with a recovery regimen, in any event. . . . DeeDee and I will be here with Madame Tracy, no need to fly out the door. Please drive carefully. It is dark and rainy outside. . . . Very good, Mr. Pickersgill. We await your arrival._

Aziraphale looks at his phone, then gazes questioningly at Crowley. The red disconnect button is not on the screen, and the angel isn’t sure what to do next.

_Press the sleep button, Angel._

_Oh. Yes. There. Thank you._

* * *

Tadfield. Saturday morning breakfast at Madame Tracy’s Tea Shop. The place is packed. However, the occupants of the choice table by the front window have fortuitously just cleared the moment Crowley and Aziraphale walk in to claim it. The two Erics are hustling about, dressed as French waiters in black trousers, vest, bowtie, white shirt and bistro half apron. Seeing Crowley, they make a beeline over. One buses the table, the other takes their order:

_Mr. Crowley. What would you and Mr. Fell prefer this morning?_

_A full fry up each - extra sausage, skip the beans. Tea for Aziraphale. Cappuccino for me._

_Right away, Mr. Crowley._

Their plates arrive promptly. A few minutes after they’ve started eating, Crowley’s phone softly boings with DeeDee’s ringtone.

_I’m the cook! Is the food good?_

_Excellent, DeeDee. Good work._

_Wensley’s running the dishwasher. Ciao._

Crowley re-pockets his phone.

_I say, Crowley, there seems to be an unusual number of giggling young women present this morning._

Crowley gazes around the room. He’s in the seat that faces the counter. Madame Tracy, wearing a soft cardigan twinset and a cozy looking shawl about her shoulders, is settled in a high chair behind the register. Pepper is assisting her with orders. He catches Peppers’ eye, nods his head toward the room and gives her a questioning look. The teen rolls her eyes, looks at one of the Erics and jerks her chin. Grimaces in disgust. Crowley grins.

_Evidently my assistants are the attraction. School holiday’s not over yet._

Mr. Pickersgill walks in. Crowley beckons him to join them.

_Thank you, Mr. Crowley. Good morning, Mr. Fell. My word, I doubt I could have found a seat had you not been here._

An Eric zooms up.

_Eric, may I introduce the vicar of St. Cecil’s and All Angels, Mr. Pickersgill. Mr. Pickersgill, meet Eric, a Disposable Demon. His twin is also called Eric._

Eric shies and looks apprehensive, but after a commanding look from Crowley, he bows to Mr. Pickersgill, then swallows hard before saying:

_And what might be your pleasure this morning, Mr. Pickersgill?_

_Bacon and two eggs, Eric. Toast, marmalade, and tea. _

Aziraphale murmurs:

_It would be a sin to not have one of these sausages, Mr. Pickersgill._

_Very well. And a sausage, too, Eric. Thank you._

Eric’s eyes widen. Crowley jerks his head, and the demon skips off. They see him conferring with his twin. The two turn and give the vicar a brief but intent look before resuming their work.

The vicar smiles at Crowley.

_Concerned I might exorcise them, are they?_

_Their lot doesn’t get Earth duty much. Doubtful they’ve ever experienced an exorcism. More likely they’re surprised about being thanked, Mr. Pickersgill. _

_Ah. Yes. I suppose Hell doesn’t stand much on such niceties._

_To say the least of it._

_“Disposable demons,” you say?_

_They take care of the scut work in Hell. And get torched if they don’t perform adequately._

_My word. Was I being quaint or patronizing to say thank you?_

_Oh no. Thank ‘em all you like. You’re a human. Hell’s protocols don’t apply on Earth. Different story in the afterlife, of course._

The other Eric comes by with the vicar’s pot of tea and cup. 

_Thank you, Eric._

The demon nods somberly and turns away. Only Crowley sees him give delighted thumb-up to his twin across the room.


	72. Command and Control

London. Triple S Security offices in a nondescript office building in a rundown northern suburb. Crowley, Evgeny, and Bohdan are seated around the desk in Bohdan’s lair. Bohdan looks like a pleased child as he speaks:

_I named the command and control servers as little jokes. Hell is “Diopside.” It is a black mineral that can show a 4-pointed star, a cross. Heaven is “Ocyrhoe,” the mate to Pegasus. Pegasus, of course, is the software we’re _not_ using. _

Crowley hands Bohdan a memory stick.

_Here’s the clickbait for Beelzebub. It’s a video file of what happened before she blew up the parish hall. When Archangel Gabriel turned up as a statue. I got permission to upgrade the hall’s audio equipment. And put in a couple surveillance cameras as well. We send this from the disposable demon DeeDee’s phone as a report._

They watch the black and white night vision camera footage.

_What’s she saying?_

Crowley translates the ancient language as they watch. The video ends.

_Fuck your mother!_

_ Holy shit!_

_Quite the beauty, isn’t she?_

Yvgeny regards the little memory stick as he might a roll of gelignite. Grins.

_I like this bitch. She will realize the blackmail potential. Yes?_

_Undoubtedly. Let’s hope she’s so pleased she won’t notice that her phone is captured. Heaven is a bit trickier. We send a clickbait file, they’ll know it came from Uriel. _

_A watering hole maneuver, then._

Crowley nods.

_Uriel tells me there’s a London tailor that the executive angels like to patronize. There’s a website._

Sandy-haired little Bohdan resembles a mischievous pixie as he grins.

_Cake._


	73. Daji

London. The offices of Triple S Security, inside a nondescript building in a rundown northern suburb. Weeks after the Hell mobile phone hack. Crowley, Evgeny, and Bohdan are sitting around Bohdan’s console, watching the camera stream from Beelzebub’s Hell phone. Bohdan presses himself back into his ergonomic chair as Beelzebub’s face appears on the screen. He turns his head away from the selfie of glowing eyes and radiant hate.

_What if she comes to get us_?

Evgeny rises, goes to Bohdan’s chair, takes the small man’s hands and pulls him up. Embraces him in a tight hug. Bohdan trembles.

_Then we get to meet her _before_ we die and go to hell._

Bohdan gives a nervous giggle. Evgeny escorts him over to his own chair, sits and pulls Bohdan into his lap. Bohdan nestles his head against Evgeny’s shoulder as the older man pats and soothes him.

Crowley, however, sees something else in Beelzebub’s face as she gazes at her phone. Suspicion.

_I think she’s onto us._

Crowley activates the hot-mike, listens intently as Beelzebub apparently leaves her office, storms through the corridors of hell, and enters the Communications department. The jerky camera feed goes from dark inside of pocket to room packed with cluttered desks fading off into the shadows. 

* * *

Demons look up and freeze in alarm. A large pudgy male demon with pig’s ears rises from what seems to be an executive desk and saunters over to Beelzebub. He gives a slight bow.

_Lord Beelzebub. How can we be of service?_

Beelzebub is holding up a mobile phone.

_Explain to me how this works._

_It is for disposable demons dispatched to Earth. You tap a contact, the phone connects you._

_I know that, fool._

_Well. I . . . uh . . ._

The demon makes the mistake of turning to give an inquiring look to his vice director. The entire room cringes as Beelzebub discorporates him with a gout of fire. She turns to regard the executive assistant (in ages past known as the office secretary).

_Tell Reincorporation to escort him directly to the sulfur pools._

The assistant lifts the handset from her/his (it’s hard to tell) 1970s intercom set and makes a call. Beelzebub turns and regards the vice director.

_Explain._

The demon quails as he realizes he doesn’t really know how a mobile phone works.

_Lord. We . . . uh . . . simply purchased them from an Earth supplier a few years ago. Better range than walkie-talkies for communicating with Earth assignments._

Beelzebub discorporates him. Regards the assistant, who promptly places another call to Reincorporation. Beelzebub gives a curt nod of approval. Turns to gaze over the room.

_Anyone? . . . Anyone?_

A small demon far back in the smoky shadows rises and navigates through the maze of desks. She has fox ears and nine bedraggled, mangy fox tails. Finally reaching the front of the room, she kowtows to Beelzebub.

_Daji. Rise._

_Lord Beelzebub. The phones are machines that emit and receive signals over specific bands of the electromagnetic spectrum. The humans have set up a network of towers to capture and route these signals. _

_Can anyone listen in on these signals?_

_My lord, not unless they make a special effort and have the right devices. It is a complex system. Half the humans on Earth use these phones and seemingly do not care if anyone is listening._

_How do you know this?_

_I have an Earth passport, my lord. I spend time in buildings they call “libraries.” Humans no longer rely solely upon paper and books to transmit information. They have built machines that - like their mobile phones - make use of the electromagnetic spectrum as a medium to store knowledge. _

_Computers._

_Yes, my lord. Connected by what they call “The Internet.” The libraries have computers available for use by anyone. _

_Come to my office._

* * *

London. Exterior of Heaven & Hell office tower. Daji exits the doors, walks briskly down the sidewalk. Her Earth guise is that of a petite Asian clad in forgettable black, from the beanie through the scruffy denim jacket right down to the trainers. She carries a messenger bag. One of the twin Tadfield Erics emerges from the crowd and confronts her. Bows hurriedly and looks anxiously at her, as if he’s contemplating doing a bunk if she makes any sudden moves.

_Demon Daji. I cannot kowtow in the street. Demon Crowley summons you. _

Daji says nothing as she regards him.

_This way, if it pleases you._

Daji gracefully gestures as if to say “Go ahead,” and the two walk around a corner to where the Bentley is parked. Crowley leans out the window.

_Get in. We’ll have a chat elsewhere._

Eric scoots around and escorts Daji through the passenger door with the grace of a hotel doorman. Stands beside the car.

_You too, Eric. _

Eric hops in and crouches anxiously on the back seat as the Bentley eases into London traffic.


	74. Demonic Cooperation

London. An old pub in Mayfair. Crowley and Daji are seated in a corner leather banquette. Eric is in a seat near a window, where he can watch the street. He and Crowley each have a pint of porter and a steak and kidney pie before them. Daji is abstaining. Crowley sticks a fork into his pie, offers Daji the first bite.

_Don’t look so disgusted. You really should try this. It’s delicious._

_No._

_Have it your way._

Crowley rests an elbow on the table and does his usual starving peasant routine with the pie, alternated with quaffs of the porter. Daji regards him with narrowed eyes.

_Beelzebub said you would find me._

_She wasn’t wrong about that, now was she. Tell me why you’re here._

_Beelzebub thinks you are listening in on the disposable demon mobile phone system._

_What makes her think that?_

_She says the response time on her phone seems slower than it used to be._

_Are you the head of the Communications Department?_

_No. I am an underling._

_Why am I not talking with the department head?_

_Beelzebub discorporated him._

_Who was he?_

_Orusula._

_He’s had it coming for a long time, the swine. Never liked him. Why were you chosen to accost me?_

_I could explain to Beelzebub how the humans’ mobile phone system works._

_Just what in Hell does Communications do all day if they don’t know that?_

_We work on wiring and switches and repairs. And paperwork. It is very backward. I am the only one who is interested in wireless communication. It was I who recommended purchase of cell phones for London disposable demons. _

_Why did you do that?_

_Because the phones have cameras and are more discreet than walkie talkies. Less likely to attract the attention of humans._

_You suckered Orusula, didn’t you._

There is a long pause, marked only by eating and drinking noises from Crowley. Then:

_Yes. I did._

_Good job. Did you explain to Beelzebub how her phone might be compromised?_

Daji looks shifty.

_Not exactly. I said I thought I could find out._

_What do you know about cell phone bugging?_

_Only that it can be done._

_What’s it worth to you to find out exactly? Without spending a week in the library, only to discover that the answers are not there._

_How do you know I visit libraries?_

Crowley smirks. 

_Let me recap. You persuaded Communications to supply London observers with devices that you knew could be compromised. You got Orusula discorporated. _

_Also his vice director._

_Good work. And Beelzebub’s disposable demon communication system is probably hacked, thanks to you. And now you get to enjoy an official trip to Earth. No more having to sneak off on an old passport. Even if you won’t eat the excellent food on offer._

_I like Earth food. Just not food with dead animals. Or beer._

_Ah. How about whisky?_

_I like whisky._

Crowley gets up and goes to the bar, returns with two glasses of Talisker. Looks up and meets Eric’s anxious eyes. Nods toward the bar. Eric hops up and gets a glass of scotch, raises it to Crowley in a cautious silent “Thank you” and returns to his post by the window.

_But now you have to produce some answers for Beelzebub. Answers that won’t point directly to you as the source of the whole problem. What’s it worth to you if I save you from a long, long visit to the sulfur spa? If you’re that lucky. You know what she did to Hastur, of course._

_I . . . I do not know what would be of value to you._

_Cooperation. You work with my little team._

_You are a traitor and a renegade. If I cooperate with you, I will be seen as a renegade as well._

_Beelzebub is without doubt counting upon your talent for treachery. _

_You would risk my betraying you?_

Crowley regards her in silence. Daji sips her scotch and does a long bout of mental math. Then she murmurs:

_If I betray you, it won’t be you that discorporates me, will it. It will be Beelzebub._

_For the last time: what’s it worth to you?_


	75. A Special Sock

Tadfield. Madame Tracy’s Tea Shop. Janet, Georgia, and Aziraphale are seated around the window table, each enjoying an éclair with their teas (Aziraphale has stuck with a traditional Earl Grey). Crowley blows in.

_Ah! There you are, Angel. You didn’t answer your phone. I was afraid you’d be biking around somewhere with that crew of yours. ‘Lo Janet. ‘Lo Georgia._

_Pepper called to say eclairs were in, so I shooed out the two browsers and closed the shop early._

Crowley pulls out a chair and sits next to Aziraphale. Takes the half-eaten éclair off the angel’s plate and munches it down in two unmistakably lewd lip-smacking bites as he and Aziraphale gaze at one another. He turns to look at the counter.

_I see she still has a few left._

Crowley rises and goes over to purchase the remaining eclairs. Aziraphale turns to see Janet and Georgia smiling at him with high amusement. His cheeks turn pink.

_Well. Yes. Crowley does greatly enjoy that particular pastry._

Crowley returns with a small box and one éclair in a tissue paper in his hand. He puts the éclair on Aziraphale’s plate.

_Here, Angel, a replacement for you._

_Thank you, my dear._

Aziraphale, Janet and Crowley tuck into their pastries while Crowley helps himself to the angel’s tea cup. The contents of which mysteriously turn the color of a light scotch. Crowley sips the cupful while the other three consume their éclairs. Aziraphale looks at him. Crowley gulps down the last mouthful, pours the last cup from the pot and puts it back alongside the angel’s plate. Aziraphale takes a sip. Smiles. Georgia takes a final bite of éclair and a sip of tea, dabs a paper serviette to her lips.

_Janet and I have a present for you, Crowley. We were chatting with Aziraphale last week when he mentioned that you prefer to relax with minimal clothing. How it made him feel chilly just to look at you._

Crowley turns and gives Aziraphale an intent look. The angel’s pink cheeks take on a deeper crimson.

_Just small talk among friends, Crowley. Please don’t get shirty._

Janet reaches into her bag and extracts a soft package wrapped in leftover Christmas paper. Hands it to Crowley.

_Janet and I were in this interesting little shop in London a few days ago. We saw this, and immediately thought you both might enjoy it._

He starts to unwrap the gift.

_Oh! No! Unwrap it later!_

Too late. Crowley holds up and examines what appears to be a piece of fluffy angora knitting. A long tube with a pompom at the end, extending from one side of a pouch with a tasseled knit tie cord. Aziraphale is now scarlet. Crowley laughs so loudly that heads turn. He quickly tucks the special sock into a pocket.

_Well now that’s just tickety-boo, as Angel might say. Thank you both for such a delightfully thoughtful gift. When you’re finished with that éclair, Angel, we’ll go try this out._

Aziraphale is now a flaming picture of exasperated embarrassment. Nonetheless graces Crowley with a loving wry smile. Janet and Georgia rise.

_Well, we must be off. Mr. Pickersgill has arranged for an after-work Evensong service, and we promised to attend. The Altar Society ladies have been practicing for weeks. This is the dress rehearsal for Sunday._

_I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time._

_Ciao._

The two women leave. A few moments later Crowley and Aziraphale rise to exit. Azirapale turns to Pepper and DeeDee behind the counter.

_See you tomorrow, my dears._

Once the pair have gone, Pepper and DeeDee exchange looks. Pepper rolls her eyes. The two teens burst into giggles.

* * *

Backroom of the bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley are seated close together on the little Victorian settee, feet resting upon the hassock. Aziraphale is wearing his tatty old brown cut velvet dressing gown, Crowley his sinfully soft ultraviolet fleece Italian sweater. And the gift sock. They’re sipping their way through a bottle of port. Crowley magics the qiviut blanket atop them.

_There now. Snug as two bugs in a rug. Perfect for a little practice on your new phone._

He magics a slim little phone into his hand. Gives it to Aziraphale, who accepts it reluctantly. Crowley magics his own phone into his hand.

_I’ve been thinking, Angel. I wonder if your dislike of modern phones is because you consider them as telephones._

_What do you mean, Crowley? Of course they’re telephones._

_Actually, they’re not, Angel. They may have started out as mobile phones. But nowadays these little machines are more accurately viewed as pocket computers. They replace all sorts of gadgets in one tidy little package._

_Such as cameras?_

_Yes. And calculators. And calendars. And lots of other things. I suspect you find them irritating as a phone because you miss the ease of knowing how to do a simple task such as dialing a number. _

_I suppose so._

_What did you used to do when you called someone and they didn’t answer?_

_I made a note to call them back._

_On paper?_

_Yes. In a calendar ledger on my desk._

_And what if they called back while you were out?_

_I didn’t know. _

_Humans used to call that phone tag._

_Well, once they invented answering machines it became a bit easier._

_Had an answering machine, did you?_

_Oh no._

_Just left messages on other people’s machines?_

Aziraphale looks shifty.

_I simply hung up. Figured if the caller really wanted to get hold of me, eventually they would._

_I’m guessing you still do that, only now with voicemail, am I correct?_

_Well . . . yes._

Crowley thinks a moment.

_Back when I was entertaining Ligur and Hastur during their little visit, you called me. Remember?_

_Yes. I was desperate to tell you where the Antichrist was._

_But you got my answering machine._

_I didn’t realize it was an answering machine. _

_Because I always picked up the first or second ring from you, didn’t I. _

Aziraphale gazes at him for a long thoughtful moment.

_We were such asses, weren’t we, Crowley. In total denial._

_Yep. But that’s all over now._

The demon gives the angel a smooch.

_Tell you what, Angel. Let’s play a little game. We’ll call it The Phone Jungle. I’ll use my phone to show you how to do something. You then do it on your phone, and we’ll celebrate with a sip of port._

_And a smooch._

_Even better. Let’s start right from the basics. Then we’ll branch out into the weeds from there._

Two hours later they’ve finished a second bottle of port and are both a trifle tiddly.

. . . _Good job. You’ve mastered the camera basics. Imagine how astonished your bike crew will be when you ask to them to bunch up so you can take a selfie. No need to have DeeDee take pics for you._

_I swear that child has her phone welded to her palm. When we go bicycling she rides no hands and chats on the thing._

They both drain their glasses.

_Whew. I’m feeling as if I’m about to melt under this blanket._

Crowley flips his half of the blanket over Aziraphale. Turns his head as he places his empty glass on the small end table. During which moment the angel snaps a pic of the angora crotch sock.

_Angel, what did you just do?_

Aziraphale shows him. Then holds his phone before his own face and hovers a finger over the screen.

_Shall I send it to Georgia and Janet?_

_Dammit –_

_Too late._

A few moments later the phone vibrates and a message notice from Georgia displays. Aziraphale swipes to open it. He and Crowley see: _“Probably best to not let it get so stretched out.”_

Crowley takes the phone, replies:

_I’ve been helping Aziraphale learn his way around his new cell phone. And the first thing he does when left unsupervised for a mere second is take a dick pic._

_No worries. We probably won’t have it framed to hang over the couch. Resume drinking. Bye. _[various smileys and devil emojis]

Crowley gazes at his smugly pleased angel.

_Gold star for extra credit, Aziraphale. You’ve mastered drunk texting. Have I told you recently that you’re a bit of a bastard?_

_No, my dear. Kiss me and tell me that. Also tell me I’m a bad angel. A very bad angel._

_Aziraphale pulls the bow tie loose from Crowley’s angora sock and removes it._

[And here the authorial drone flies off to a chapter in Crowley Gets A New Look. Or maybe out the window. Stay tuned.]


	76. Angels and Demons

Early evening twilight. Inside the Bentley, enroute to London. Cyndi Lauper’s _Time After Time_ starts on Crowley’s ”Best of the 80s” playlist. Aziraphale is riveted.

_Would you play that song again, Crowley?_

Crowley puts it on replay.

_You know I never listened to be- . . . er, popular music. But I remember liking this simple little song very much._

Crowley turns and regards him steadily. Aziraphale glances nervously at the road ahead.

_Oh, don’t worry. The Bentley is pretty will trained on this stretch. See?_

Crowley takes his hands from the wheel, and the car rolls steadily along in its lane, keeping a safe distance from the vehicle ahead. Demo accomplished, he places his hands back on the wheel and pretends to drive once again. Aziraphale breathes a sigh of relief and relaxes in his seat.

_Thank you, my dear. I’m still having difficulty adjusting to a self-driving car. _

_Well, it’s not exactly self-driving like a Google car. It’s me, not Waymo. _

_I’m not certain that’s at all reassuring._

Crowley grins. 

_So you liked Cyndi Lauper, eh?_

_I never knew the singer’s name. _

_Funny you liked it. I always think of you when I hear it._

Aziraphale is silent for a long moment.

_I suspect I liked it for the same reason. Made me think of you. And it still does._

Crowley reaches an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, pulls him across the gap between the two seats, runs his other hand through the angel’s wooly hair as he kisses him firmly. The Bentley drives steadily along, without even a slight swerve.

* * *

London. The parking garage below Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Aziraphale leans over. Putting an arm around Crowley’s shoulder, he unbuttons the shearling collar of the demon’s overcoat, loosens and removes his tie, unbuttons his shirt, pulls his undershirt loose, and caresses Crowley’s bare chest. Crowley slumps back and sighs. Aziraphale undoes the snake belt buckle, trouser buttons, extracts the demon's giblets from his underwear and proceeds with a lovely, sloppy BJ. Crowley is off into Divine Ecstasy in short order.

A London Eric and DeeDee sit perched against a concrete girder in a shadowy corner above the Bentley.

_Look at him. Wish I had an angel who could do that with me._

_It must feel really good, all right._

_You ever meet an angel you fancied?_

_Nope. Not even a demon._

_Well, yeah. We’re a pretty ugly, nasty lot. _

_Ever felt the urge to hook up with a succubus?_

Eric gives her a disgusted look.

_Satan’s sins, what a thought. They couple with humans. It is their punishment. Ewwwww._

_I feel the same way. Pretty much kills all lust, doesn’t it._

_It’s not lust I feel when I see Demon Crowley and his angel. I can’t describe it. More like longing._

_You want to be loved._

_Yeah, that’s probably it. Just a dandy feeling to have when you’re a disposable demon. No power, no glamour, nothing attractive about you whatsoever. Everyone’s floor rag. _

_At least Demon Crowley doesn’t make us go around in rags._

_Yeah! These down jackets are great, aren’t they._

_I like the boots, too._

DeeDee holds out her feet, which sport Dr. Martens’ colorful Day of the Dead skull patterns. Eric’s are the Playing Card design. She looks at Eric.

_There’s another angel in town, you know. Besides Demon Crowley’s angel. A young one._

_You mean a young-looking one._

_Well of course. Duh. None of us are actually young. She works at that tailor’s shop the angels like to get their clothing from._

_No kidding?_

_Yeah. I saw her while I was patrolling Savile Row a few weeks ago. She came out for a coffee. Tall. Pretty. Platinum hair. I didn’t get too close. I don’t think she spotted me._

_You do a good street kid, that’s for sure._

_Speaking of coffee, you want one? I fancy some cocoa myself. There’s that Starbucks several blocks down._

_Sure. Doesn’t look like Crowley’s going anywhere soon._

DeeDee hops lightly down to the concrete floor, zips off like a moving shadow. It’s a longish while before she returns, floats up to the girder and hands Eric his cup.

_Took you awhile. What happened?_

_Had a run-in with two drunk humans on the way back. They grabbed me and spilled the coffee and cocoa all over me. Wanted sex. I smote them. Then I had to go back and get more coffee and cocoa._

_Are they dead?_

_No. But they’ll wish they were when they come to._

_Didn’t remove any body parts, did you?_

_Nah. Just burns._

_Human males are a bloody nuisance, If you ask me. Had to smite a couple myself a few weeks ago. They called me a faggot. Tried to rough me up._

The little pair of guardians shake their heads, sip their drinks.

* * *

Chinatown, City of Westminster, London. Dark, but near dawn. Daji has spent the night moving from restaurant to restaurant, blissfully stuffing herself with snacks and maotai. She’s walking back to her Soho hotel when two men come out of a bar, see her and begin to follow her. Three blocks later, she turns just as one runs up, grabs her, and shoves her against a building. 

* * *

London, border between Chinatown and Soho. Two MP officers gaze in dismay at the remains on the sidewalk. One of them radios for assistance.

_Bloody ‘ell. What could have done that?_

_Careful, don’t step in that blood. Looks like some animal attacked them. A lion. Or tiger. Anyone in the neighborhood own some exotic big cat pet, do you suppose?_

_Forensics will have fun with these two, that’s for sure._

* * *

London. Early morning, Crowley’s Mayfair flat. He and Aziraphale are in their dressing gowns, seated upon the leather couch as they work their way through smoked oysters, fresh croissants, and champagne.

_Have to work today, Angel, so we can’t lunch together. Beelzebub has sent up a new demon. My business partners and I are meeting to have a little conference about her._

_Anyone I might know?_

_Doubtful. Name’s Daji. The disposable demons tell me she’s a shapeshifter who’s mostly been stationed in Asia._

Aziraphale looks at him in alarm.

_Crowley! Daji is a fearsome foe. Wily and cruel._

_You know her?_

_Oh yes. I spent most of the Yuan Dynasty in China. Gruesome trip getting there and back. Between the deserts, mountain passes, bandits, and slave raiders, most of the humans with me perished or were taken captive. And if it weren’t for the Throne Xuanwu, I suspect Daji would have succeeded in sending me back to Heaven the hard way. Fortunately the head office decided to let the Byzantines and southern Europeans take over as emissaries after the Mongols were ousted. I was never so happy to sail up the Thames._

_The disposable crew tell me she’s been in Hell since Liberation in 1949. Evidently the Chinese Communists knew how to deal with a demon when they found one. Guessing she has no love for the cadres. That would be good, as I plan to ship her off to Shanghai._

_I hope you’re successful. It would be dreadful to have her hanging around here._

Aziraphale takes the demon’s hand.

_You play a frightening game, Crowley._


	77. Angels and Demons, Continued

London. Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Aziraphale and Crowley continue their breakfast conversation on the couch.

_So as usual you’ll be practicing with your sword while I’m away? _

_Oh yes. It takes many years to progress in kendo._

_How’s Pepper doing, by the way?_

_My word, she’s getting quite fast and fierce. I missed a parry the other day, and she landed a blow on my backside that smarted, I can tell you. Inoue Sensei was impressed. He evidently also has a black belt in aikido. Would like to start instructing Pepper in that. Believes such training in a more defensive art would sharpen her offensive technique. Curb a tendency to rashness._

_And how did Pepper take that?_

_Was all for it. She’s spending four afternoons after school every week now, working on martial arts._

_Good move on your part, getting Inoue Sensei to retire to Tadfield._

_Yes, that’s working out surprisingly well, isn’t it? Janet and Georgia seem pleased as well. Although Georgia suggested firearms training next, if you can imagine._

_Yes, I can imagine. Wants me to let her shoot my old Colt .45 some time. Americans and their guns._

_One of your human body guards is a woman, yes?_

_Leysa. A dead shot. Practices krav maga. Has got the Erics driving like proper security guards now. They’ve got drifts and y-turns down cold. You should see Adam and them practicing on the course some time. Jimmy is starting to complain about the tires and transmissions upkeep._

_I’m surprised it’s Wensleydale who wants to fly helicopters, not Adam._

_Adam can fly all on his own if he feels like it._

_Oh. Yes. Quite. I tend to forget. He’s so lowkey._

_If I’m ever discorporated again and Beelzebub won’t let me go, give Adam the Bentley, will you?_

_Really my dear. Don’t torment me with such thoughts._

_Let’s have a kiss._

Some minutes later:

_Crowley, I think we should ask Uriel to let The Twins know that Daji is up and active again. So they can alert Xuanwu._

_Was thinking the same thing myself. _

_Isn't that a bit treacherous on your part?_

Crowley smiles snakily.

* * *

London. Evgeny’s office in the shabby Triple S Security building. Crowley, Evgeny, and Bohdan are seated around the desk. Evgeny and the demon are having shots of vodka. Bohdan is an abstainer. Crowley shows the two men the picture of Daji on his phone. The small female demon is calmly glaring at him as if she’d rip out his gizzard for tuppence.

_What a sweetie. _

_That’s just what she looks like at the moment. She’s a shapeshifter. Animals included. She favors the white tiger, Angel informs me. And for everyday evil, a six-tailed fox. Apparently she made the mistake of using the fox shape when trying to slip through the Red Army’s siege of Changchun. The peasant soldiers recognized her immediately and chopped her to bits._

_And you want to bring her into our organization. Hold your friends close, but your enemies closer, eh?_

_Exactly. Her treachery and cruelty are notorious, even among the demons of Hell. Guessing that’s why Beelzebub had her sidelined in a menial office position. Nonetheless, she managed to send up not only a powerful department head, but his second-in-command as well._

_Impressive._

_She’d be perfect for the China operation. We’re losing too many agents there. _

Bohdan interjects gloomily:

_My friend Meihua was executed last summer. They thought she was CIA._

_There are no more CIA agents in China. The ones who couldn’t escape were executed years ago._

_The CCP doesn’t think so._

Bohdan considers a moment.

_Maybe that was just their cover excuse to kill Mei._

_Well, if Daji can’t slip through their firewall and surveillance, I don’t know who can. She’s been on the ground there since the beginning. Can read oracle bones. Likely she set up that system of prophecy. Speaks the major dialects, including the all-important Fujianese. Has been all over Indochina as well._

_What’s it worth to her to not betray us if it becomes convenient?_

_Revenge. Hatred. The Heavenly Host is backing the Chinese Communist Party, you know. They love the idea of an authoritarian regime that encourages humans to behave themselves. That social credit system they’re setting up has Heavenly Host fingerprints all over it. And Daji already has a score to settle with the Red Army._

_How do we slip her in? What cover? Multiple passports are useless these days._

Crowley looks extremely snaky. 

_I have an idea. Will try a preliminary foray on Monday to see if I’m on the right scent._

The three sit in silent thought for a long while. Evgeny pours two more shots of vodka. He and Crowley toast, down their liquor in one gulp. Bohdan’s lips twitch in a wincing smile and he murmurs:

_Life in interesting times._


	78. Ladies Night Out

London, Soho. The Blind Pig. Uriel and The Twins are seated in a corner banquette with cocktails and duckfat chips.

_Mmmmmm. So much better than tea, Uriel. _

_I thought about Oblix. But decided we’d be better off in a less exposed location. I’ve never been here before. It sounded like fun._

_Let’s stay and try everything on the menu._

_Great idea. I’m in no rush to get back to Tadfield. Booked a hotel room for tonight._

The Twins look at one another.

_So did we._

The Twins are silent for some moments under Uriel’s questioning look. They each take a sip of cocktail. Then Dorri leans forward and whispers:

_Do you remember the night cursed Beelzebub blew up the lobby?_

_How could I forget?_

_And discorporated Aida. For the second time in less than a month._

_Yes. You were very upset. But then The Almighty reincorporated her promptly. A gift of grace._

Another silence as The Twins regard one another. Finally Dorri continues:

_Do you remember how you shared some apples with us, and suggested we try an embrace without our robes?_

Uriel smiles.

_Did you actually do that?_

Aida is looking uneasy.

_Oh, Uriel! It was so awful! The Almighty had reincorporated me as a male. I felt so humiliated and embarrassed._

_But then . . ._

* * *

London. Main Office Building of Heaven & Hell. The Twins have just re-entered their office after meeting Uriel in the destroyed lobby.

_Oh, Aida! Thank The Almighty for reincorporating you. I was so fearful. Let’s try that hug Uriel suggested._

Aida steps quickly away and turns her back as Dorri snaps her fingers and their robes vanish. 

_No! Dorri, please!_

Aida shoulders are hunched, hands clutched between her legs.

_Aida! It’s me, Dorri. There’s no need to be shy._

Dorri approaches and puts an arm around Aida’s shoulders. Looks down and see what Aida is trying to conceal.

_Oh dear lord. You’re male._

Aida’s hands cover her face.

_I couldn’t bear to tell you. Why has The Almighty punished me so? I did nothing wrong._

Aida is crying.

_Aida. You can switch, you know._

_Do I dare? If The Almighty wanted me to be female, she would have reincorporated me thus._

_We don’t know that. She is ineffable. We should not be so presumptuous as to second guess her intentions._

Aida looks apprehensive. Gazes in the direction of Gabriel’s suite by the Portal to The Presence. Then switches to female. Nothing terrible happens. No rumble of distant thunder. Overall she looks pretty much the same with female trim – a beautiful Central Asian - only a bit shorter and less chiseled. Dorri embraces her in a loving hug.

_Then _something very surprising happens.

* * *

Back in The Blind Pig.

_It was hours later when we came out of it._

_Our intercom was flashing lights like a casino slot machine._

_How do you know what a slot machine looks like?_

_We’ve been to Monte Carlo._

Their waiter approaches and they order various snacks. And another round of different cocktails.

_Uriel, how did you learn about this . . . phenomenon?_

_From the Angel Aziraphale. It is what he and his demon Crowley have been doing. He says it lasts for hours. Just as you experienced._

_No! We are not committing lust like Aziraphale and Crowley!_

_Neither is Aziraphale. I can’t speak for that devious snake Crowley, of course. But it is does appear that the two actually do love one another. They walk about Tadfield hand in hand and are openly affectionate. But the important thing is, they have discovered that naked body contact causes the effect you experienced. They call it Divine Ecstasy. They have a theory that it only happens if there is mutual love. _

_So you tested out their theory on us? _

_Well, yes. You are renowned lovers._

Dorri and Aida laugh.

_We can’t really be ungrateful to you for tricking us into such a wonderful experience, now can we?_

_Do you think it is the same as what humans experience when they lust and mate? We have been worrying about that. Human sex is so messy._

_I don’t know. The bliss humans experience - they call it “orgasm” - is only momentary. They do not experience such delight for hours. And they seem to have sex anytime, anywhere. Love often isn’t present at all. At least, judging by some of the awful things they do._

The Twins roll their eyes and grimace.

_That’s true. Although, to be fair, they are of course animals, and must reproduce._

_But Divine Ecstasy must require body contact similar to human sex. There was a scandal in Tadfield this summer when Aziraphale and Crowley were observed . . . doing something like what you two did._

_They were naked? _

_Not totally naked. Just caressing and kissing one another other and lying together with their middle body sections unclothed. The Tadfield humans certainly adjudged the pair to be having sex. Humans would know all about that._

_Maybe orgasm is how humans are rewarded for the indignity of having to behave as animals. But Divine Ecstasy is the reward for expressing love with celestial bodies?_

_And apparently demonic bodies as well._

_Hm. Aziraphale and Crowley are both males. They can experience sex without sticking their body parts into one another?_

_You and Dorri didn’t go sticking body parts into each other, I’m guessing._

_Well, not quite._

Dorri nearly spews her drink. Aida continues:

_It is very strange how no one in Heaven even whispers about angels doing naked touching. As if it’s some sort of low behavior that only humans do when they’re in lust. Beyond even imagining for us with celestial bodies. Dorri and I do love one another. If we had known about Divine Ecstasy before . . ._

The three sit in silent thought, sipping their cocktails. After some time, Dorrie muses:

_Aida, you remember what Aziraphale said when Gabriel interrogated him before turning him into a statue?_

_That was so awful. _

_What happened, exactly?_

_Gabriel accused Aziraphale of . . . Dorri, how did he phrase it?_

_Something like allowing Crowley to slake his demonic lust upon Aziraphale’s celestial body._

_And Aziraphale denied that it was lust. Declared that they love one another._

_Do you remember the look that came over his face when he said that?_

_Yes. Beatific. Almost as if he was illuminated with happiness. I was shocked when Gabriel slapped him._

_Gabriel slapped him?_

_Yes. In the face._

_Oh dear lord. He actually assaulted a subordinate?_

_I am ashamed now that we did not intervene. I think our only excuse is that we were so astonished that such a thing had happened. We were stunned _

_But Aziraphale was very brave. He called Gabriel a fool._

_Yes! I remember exactly what he said. _[Aida assumes an indignant body posture, as if imitating Aziraphale] _“You may be the Archangel fucking Gabriel, but you’re a fool.”_

Uriel nearly spews her sip of cocktail.

_But things got really strange, Uriel, just before Gabriel turned Aziraphale into a statue. He destroyed Aziraphale’s clothing. As if being naked was a punishment. I have never seen an angel disrobed before._

_Come to think of it, I don’t think any of us has._

They exchange looks. A long silence all around the table. Then Uriel whispers:

_Lucifer and Beelzebub were lovers, weren’t they._

A very long silence. Cocktails are drained.

_Let’s have another round. We haven’t tried everything yet._

Waiter summoned and refreshments delivered, the three continue their discussion. Uriel murmurs:

_Gabriel got quite a spanking from The Almighty for his behavior, didn’t he._

_Yes indeed._

_You didn’t actually see his statue, did you, Uriel?_

_No. What did it look like?_

Dorri pulls out her phone, flicks through various screens, hands it to Uriel.

_Oh my. It’s actually rather beautiful. But I can see why it wasn’t placed in the Tadfield church. Tadfield is not a modern congregation._

She returns Dorri’s phone. More cocktail sips. 

_Make one wonder exactly what accursed Beelzebub did to torment Gabriel, doesn’t it._

Significant glances exchanged all around.

Uriel gets out her phone.

_Did you see the pictures of what was left of the Tadfield parish hall after accursed Beelzebub destroyed it?_

_Just the article in the paper._

_I’ll message them to you. For the files. Is Gabriel still walking around barefoot?_

_Oh yes. He receives visitors at his desk now. So they can’t see his feet. But everyone knows._

_He deserves every bit of it. Tormenting poor Aziraphale. Shaming one of our own before the legions of Hell. _

_Taunting accursed Beelzebub and letting her destroy the lobby._

_What a fool, to so badly underestimate her power and wickedness. _

_Have the rest of your staff been reincorporated yet?_

_Yes. Finally. We’re only beginning to catch up with the department backlog. _

_That prick Quartermaster has been whining about security breaches on the phone system. Demands to know what we’ve been doing, why the new phones he requested haven’t been delivered, yadda yadda yadda . . ._

_As if a thousand new phones can just be set up in a day. _

_Not to mention refurbishing the old ones._

_Will I be getting a new phone?_

_Doubtful. Do you need one? Yours doesn’t seem to get much use in Tadfield._

_You can track usage?_

_Calls made, location, pictures, messages - it all goes into a giant data hopper. _

_Now that our earth observation system won’t work over England and half the surrounding countries, we must rely on the phones for compliance checks for that part of the globe._

_What do you mean, the observation system won’t work?_

_It’s as if a giant luminous cloud is over the area. We can’t penetrate it. Images just turn out white._

_We suspect the effect is connected with the young Antichrist, Adam Young. You see him frequently, do you not?_

_Yes. He behaves no differently than an ordinary human teenager. Certainly doesn’t emit light. You know, one of the reasons I suggested this place was because I feared we would be observed if we met at Oblix. My being in Gabriel’s doghouse and all. Didn’t think it would be a good idea for you to be seen with me._

_Well, we won’t be seen by the observation system, not anymore. Chance observation by a passing angel could happen, though. This place is perfect._

_But if our phones show where we are, aren’t you worried about meeting me and staying in a hotel instead of your office?_

_The location tracking can be turned off._

_Really? Will you show me how?_

_Not advisable. It’s for your safety, you know. Demons are everywhere. _

_Tell me about it. I’m stuck in Tadfield with the demon Crowley infesting the place. Not to mention accursed Beelzebub showing up torment Gabriel and destroy the parish hall _

The twins look at one another. Dorri glances around the room as if making sure no one is paying attention to them. Whispers:

_Gabriel thinks he’s assigned you to Tadfield as a punishment. A low-level post. Having to endure humans. How he thinks the presence of the young Antichrist is insignificant, I do not understand. _

_But Michael thinks differently._

The twins nod silently.

_You are an experienced Earth angel, Uriel. Ordinarily your skills would not be wasted on a small village such as Tadfield._

_Nor would Ammun be stationed in London to assist you._

Uriel summons the waiter and they order yet another round of cocktails and snacks. Their waiter by now has recognized them as a live bunch and surpasses even the usual swift service. They’ve all ordered the “Dream Jar.” Aida takes a sip and delicately smacks her lips.

_Heaven! This is sublime. _

_Now what were we discussing. Oh yes. Ammun. He doesn’t seem to move out of London much. Do you encounter him frequently?_

_Yes. We meet up to compare notes. His latest observation is why I’ve asked to meet with you. He has seen the archdemon Daji. He was having a new jacket fitted at that Savile Row shop we patronize. Daji, the demon Crowley, and Crowley’s demon assistant walked in._

_No! Why did he not report this to us directly?_

_He asked me to confer with Aziraphale first to see what he knows. When I called Aziraphale, he told me he was just about to contact me. Told me that Crowley had called to say that Daji was in London. Aziraphale says he had a bad run-in with Daji in 14th century China. That we should alert you and Throne Xuanwu._

_Aziraphale betrayed a confidence of Crowley’s?_

_Oh no. That’s the remarkable thing. Aziraphale says Crowley asked him to tell me about DaJi. Crowley couldn’t call me himself. Evidently Hell tracks phones, too. And the accursed Beelzebub would likely torture him to extinction if he were he to show up at the Main Office to tattle to the Heavenly Host. _

_Let me get this straight. Demon Crowley ratted out a fellow demon? _

_Even worse. He’s been assigned to work with her. Says she is cruel and treacherous. Doesn’t want her within a hundred miles of Aziraphale. Is plotting to send her back to China._

_That’s rich. A demon calling another demon cruel. And it sounds as if Crowley could give Daji some lessons in treachery._

_Or his love for Aziraphale trumps his fear of Hell. I think we have been underestimating that particular demon for a long time._

Dorri looks concerned.

_Uriel. Don’t be deceived by that little snake Crowley’s wiles. He is quite dangerous. Surely you recall how he discorporated us. You must coordinate more closely with Ammun. He had quite a bit of experience dealing with Crowley back in the day. _

_Aida whispers:_

_And Crowley’s friend, the dread Jinni Anubis._

Dorri gets out her phone. Places a call. 

_Ammun? Good of you to answer for a change and not send me to voicemail. . . . We are with Uriel. She has told us about the archdemon Daji. We thank and commend you . . . Uriel tells us she is staying overnight in London. Please meet with her while she is in the city to coordinate your activities to track Daji. . . . Very good. Tomorrow we will send down a surveillance team to assist you. . . . No? . . . Are you quite sure? . . . Angel Hekla is not in danger? . . . So be it. Should anything go amiss, you know who will be blamed. Consider yourself warned. . . . Uriel will call you to tell you where she is staying. That is all. Good evening._

Dorri disconnects and puts her phone back in her jacket pocket.

_He refused the surveillance team because he says there are already disposable demons all over the place. Doesn’t want to alert Hell that we’re onto them by having a squad of surveillance angels turn up. _

Aida murmurs:

_He doesn’t think Hekla is in danger?_

_Who is Hekla?_

_Angel Hekla is the receptionist at the tailor’s where Ammun spotted Daji. He says Daji came in with demon Crowley and his assistant Eric. _

_Why did Hekla not alert us?_

_Ammun told her he would. Said she was scared stiff when the three demons walked in. Oddly, he thinks Crowley has Daji on a tight leash._

_You’d think it would be just the opposite._

_Indeed. Most interesting._

The three angels sit thoughtfully as they consume their cocktails. Dorri brightens.

_Let’s all order that “Dirty” burger on the menu. Sounds positively decadent._


	79. The Point Is

London. Bohdan’s computer lab at Triple S Security. Crowley, Evgeny and Bohdan are seated in their ergonomic executive chairs before Bohdan’s console. Crowley is speaking.

_. . . she reported that the highest security staff of the Heavenly Host imagines that it’s simply possible to turn off GPS to stop tracking._

Bohdan erupts in explosive horselips snicker. Then looks extremely smug as he comments:

_At least Heaven is using Apple. And they have their own server system. Which, by the way, thanks to a recent little hole my Hong Kong friends discovered, we have now exploited. Big data dump. Looks as if we’ll have all personnel records, at the very least. About ten million angels._

Crowley grins. 

_Problem is, there are lots of languages._

_I know a fellow demon who can help out with that. If she’s willing. Question of motivation. _

Crowley’s distant gaze indicates wheels are already turning. He snaps back to attention as Evgeny murmurs:

_Not that Daji demon, is it?_

_Nah. With any luck, she’ll be off in Shanghai soon, learning how to loot cryptocurrencies. _

_How sharp is she, anyway?_

_Fairly bright. Nothing like Bohdan here. You know, the big mistake that both Heaven and Hell make is to assume they’re superior to humans. Your lives may be short, but you’re equal to any angel or demon in the brains department. Well, with the exception of Lucifer and Beelzebub. _

He unconsciously crouches with his hands clasped in his lap.

Bohdan silently hands Crowley his vaporizer. Crowley takes a deep inhale and slowly uncurls back into a relaxed posture in his executive chair.

_Heaven and Hell creak along on the same old hierarchies and are always playing catchup to you._

Bohdan retrieves the vaporizer, takes a whiff, then speaks.

_Have to say, I’ve been running skims of the Heaven phone logs and have yet to find anything remotely interesting. Just a lot of bureaucratic bullshit. Compliance reports. Miracle expense accounts. Staff reassignments. No plots being hatched, no corporate raids, no financial transfers, no research . . . and no fun at all. No dick pics, gossip . . . They do like to share pics of new outfits. Designer clothes. _

_Any pattern?_

_Seems to be a little rivalry going on between Europe and China over who’s got the best designers. Otherwise boring as hell. _

_You mean “boring as Heaven.” Hell can get quite exciting if you’re down there. Not in a good way, of course._

Evgeny and Bohdan are silent for a moment, recollecting the video clips of Crowley’s last visit to Hell. His flight over the blue sulphur pools, Lake of Fire, and up the immense red cliffs.

Evgeny murmurs:

_Points to Hell for dramatic scenery._

_I’ll take the view from Heaven any day. Got a chance to see it after young master Adam derailed Armageddon. The Heavenly Host were trying to kill me, of course. But the view from the top is spectacular._

_You do live, don’t you, Crowley._

_I haven’t any choice. But the point is . . . my point is . . . The war._

_Which war? There’s always one going on somewhere._

_The war between Heaven and Hell. Armageddon didn’t happen. So what? Did that just put everything on hold for awhile? The Heavenly Host and the Legions of Hell still want their war. And you humans will be so much roadkill if they get it going again and turn Earth into a pile of burning goo. What I want to know . . . what I want to know is . . . Can I have some of those cheese crisps, Bohdan? _

Bohdan hands him the bag. Crowley munches down a handful, then resumes.

_What is their focus now? Still plotting war? Or just settling down to the daily grind of harvesting souls?_


	80. Love on Savile Row

London. Savile Row. Crowley, DaJi, and Eric enter a bespoke tailor’s establishment. The receptionist is thin with closely cropped platinum hair. Luxurious matching eyebrows. Eyes of palest blue. High cheekbones under dark toffee skin. Wearing a simple cream jersey cowl-neck tunic dress with a belted waist, that drapes over a bosom that could either be very small breasts or nice pectoral muscles. Eric fumbles the portfolio he’s carrying for Crowley, cannot tear his gaze way. The receptionist, however, visibly tenses in fear.

_Relax, angel. We have an appointment. Anthony J. Crowley. _

The receptionist taps an iPad and rises behind the desk, stands as if unsure of which direction to flee. A smartly dressed woman emerges from the back.

_Good morning, Mr. Crowley. My name is Alexandra. I am our women’s cutter._

_Pleasure to meet you. May I introduce my assistant Ms. Ji Da-hye. We will be requiring some things suitable for a warmer climate, as we plan to post her to Shanghai._

Daji has ditched the scruffy all-black street look, now appears to be a member of an Asian boy/girl band. Bright red hair in a short boyish cut. Slim black Italian cut suit with a chartreuse silk shirt. Silver fox fur muffler. Extremely cute.

_Welcome, Ms. Ji._

_Please call me “Daisy.”_

_If you will come with me, Daisy, we will discuss your styling requirements, fabric selection, and take your measurements. By your leave, Mr. Crowley._

_Very good, Alexandra. I leave Daisy in your capable hands._

During this exchange Eric’s gaze has remained fixed on the receptionist, whose gaze has been fixed on Daji.

_Eric? Time to go._

Eric snaps to, nods to the receptionist (who doesn’t see him because she’s still staring at the doorway through which Alexandra and Daji exited), briskly dashes over to hold the door open for Crowley.

* * *

Same location. Early evening. Eric slips through the door, approaches the receptionist and bows deeply, sits in one of the small leather armchairs near the desk, hands clutched in his lap.

_Hi. My name is Eric._

_You are Mr. Crowley’s assistant. A demon._

_Yes. But please don’t be afraid of me. I’m just a disposable demon. I can’t hurt you. Can you tell me your name?_

_I am Angel Hekla. What is a disposable demon?_

_We’re . . . clones, I guess you could say. We do all the drudge work in Hell. And get discorporated all the time. Disposable. Like rags._

_How awful. I’ve spent six hundred years as a sweeper, myself. My last Earth assignment ended badly. I requested a position in housekeeping. Sweeping is very relaxing. And you get to see all the departments in Heaven. Nobody pays any attention to you._

_That’s sort of true in Hell, too. You get to go everywhere. Except there’s probably a lot more dirt to sweep up. And getting discorporated sucks. Why are you on Earth now?_

_An angel named Sandalphon was demoted to housekeeping. He began to pester and bully me. I could not escape him. So I requested an Earth assignment, and they placed me here. It has been very peaceful until today._

_What happened today?_

_You three demons walked in. I was very frightened._

_You know who Demon Crowley is, don’t you?_

The angel looks around as if afraid, then whispers:

_The owners of this shop are impressed because they think he is a very rich human. In Heaven, however, he is reviled as the seducer of the Principality Aziraphale. _

_I think “lover” would be a better word. Demon Crowley is very protective of the angel. They are kind to each other._

_Everyone still talks about the explosion in the main lobby._

_That was something, wasn’t it. I say, are you free to go to tea? Or supper?_

_The Demon Daisy has already asked me to join her for dinner in Chinatown. She will be stopping by when the shop closes._

_No! Her real name is Demon Daji, the Fox. She is cruel and treacherous. You must not fraternize with her!_

_She says she has repented her evil ways._

_Satan’s sins, you surely don’t believe that?_

_We angels are always encouraging of repentance and restitution._

Eric stares at Hekla for an uncomfortable long moment. Then:

_You have a crush on her, don’t you._

The angel’s dusky skin darkens.

_I am an angel. I cannot lie. Yes. I feel drawn to her as a magnet._

_Or a moth to a flame. _

A tailor enters from the back. Eric jumps up to leave. 

_I must go. Please beware Daji, angel._

He fades out the door like an exiting shadow.

* * *

London. Night. The rooftop of Crowley’s Mayfair flat, upon which a small helicopter is parked. Eric and London DeeDee are seated with their legs hanging over the edge, gazing over the illuminated buildings across and below.

_I couldn’t tell if she was male or female. She has a gentle, soft voice. So I think maybe female. Not that it makes any difference._

_I thought you were attracted to that nice plump young human in Tadfield? _

_The two Erics she is working with like her. I thought I did, too, until I met Hekla. Hekla is so beautiful. And she is a celestial being. Not a human._

_She really has a crush on that horrid Daji?_

_Yes. It can only end badly. I just hope she doesn’t get tormented. Or discorporated._

_I think you have a crush on her._

_I don’t think it’s a crush. I think I’m in love._

_That’s what they all say. It is a common situation in human dramas. Those who are infatuated always think they are in love. _

_Well, what’s the difference?_

_I’m not really sure. I only know what I see in the movies. Something shocking usually happens to end an infatuation. Murder. Betrayal. Stuff like that. Suddenly the infatuated person realizes that they have been foolish. _

_Satan’s sins. I wonder if Crowley would permit me to shadow Hekla._

_Doubtful. We DeeDees could do that for you, though. There are still a couple of us left in London._

_You’d better get his permission._

_He’s already suggested it._


	81. Heaven Hacked

Hell. Publishing office of the Infernal Times. Beelzebub, engaging in Management By Walking Around, approaches the glassed-in cubicle of the Editor in Chief. The pressroom falls silent. Beelzebub gazes around the room.

_Carry on._

Demons leap to pretend to continue working, typing madly away with heads down at terminals, shuffling piles of papers, bustling off to shelves and cabinets. A few Disposable Demons creep closer to the Editor’s cubicle, languidly sweeping and emptying wastebaskets. One of the DeeDees has earbuds and seems to be distractedly listening to tunes as she polishes the floor on her hands and knees. She slowly moves to pick up some paper shreddings accidentally dropped near the editor's door by a passing Eric with an overstuffed trash bag. Carefully picks up the tiny pieces of confetti one by one, carefully placing them in the ragged burlap pouch she’s dragging along. 

The Editor bows low as Beelzebub enters, but does not speak first.

_About today’s headline story._

_Lord Beelzebub! Thrilling, isn’t it? Who would have thought Demon Crowley capable of such an exploit, eh? Do you think Heaven will pay the ransom?_

_You have not forgotten the “Holy Water” incident?_

_No, Lord. That is why I sent you a proof before publishing anything about Demon Crowley. We have held the presses._

The editor bows low again.

_Remove Demon Crowley’s name from the article. I will not have a traitor and fugitive given publicity. I await your corrected proof._

A shimmering heat haze fills the room. Beelzebub turns, leaves. The Editor does not consider freedom of the press for so much as a nanosecond. Pokes intercom buttons.

_Thompson. Malacoda. Get in here. We need to make some changes._

Two demons rise from their desks and slouch into the editor’s cubicle.

_Thompson, take that fag out of your mouth. _

Thompson removes his cigarette holder from his mouth, but does not extinguish the cigarette. The editor glares at him. The demon shrugs, takes one final drag, removes the cigarette from its holder, opens the glass door, tosses the half-burned butt to the floor. Doesn’t notice the disposable demon carefully poking a finger to keep the door from closing completely. She slowly and meticulously begins to gather up the scattered ash and shreds, piece by tiny piece.

_Remove Crowley’s name. Change that “Their system was a fucking sieve” quote from him to the usual anonymous source blahblahblah. So get busy and rub all the fingerprints off this one. Unless you want another trip to the sulfur spa._

The editor jerks his head toward the door. The two demons exit the cubicle. Malacoda kicks the disposable demon as they pass. The pair saunter over to the canteen, where they each pour themselves a cup of tea from the carafe. The mugs are cracked and chipped, the tea is dark as boiled shoe leather and tastes about the same.

_Satan’s Sins. We never learn, do we. _

_Well, one of us doesn’t. Told ya we shouldn’t have featured Crowley. _

_You were the one who interviewed that slippery motherfucker, for Hell’s sake._

_And I’ll do it again, if I get the chance. He’s gold. Besides, everyone knows it’s him, anyways._

_I suppose so. We didn’t even need to publish anything on that escape over the red cliffs. It was all over like wildfire._

_Disposable demons and their fucking little phones. _

_You’ve actually used one?_

Thompson mutters between sips:

_Oh no. They guard them like death. Say they only share with Beelzebub. I discorporated one awhile back. Tried to see what was on its phone. Had some sort of password. I couldn’t get past the first screen. Beelzebub found out. Called me in. Demanded I hand it over. Gave me one of her incentive awards._

_Ow. So that’s what happened that afternoon you went missing._

_Yep. Had to make a prolonged recovery at a pub earthside. Took me awhile to crawl back to the office. _

_You use a mobile phone when you’re on Earth, right?_

_Yep. What they call a “burner.” Crowley always has some available._

Thompson looks off in the direction of Beelzebub’s office. Malacoda turns and follows his gaze. Raises his eyebrows.

_Yeah. She let him escape._

_You haven’t shared that little insight with anyone else, have you?_

_Satan’s sins. Fuck no. Not keen on keeping Hastur company._

The two demons bump fists.

Thompson taps out a cigarette, refills his holder, leaves a trail of smoke as the two return to their desks.


	82. New Sofa

London. Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Crowley is excited about the just-delivered Michel Ducaroy sofa. 

_Crowley, I love the color! Such a beautiful, rich red._

_And feel the fabric – it’s called “Alcantara.”_

_Feels like suede._

_Only better. You can read all about it on Wikipedia later. Let’s try It out._

Exchanging a significant glance with one another, they plop themselves onto the sofa, snapping fingers to remove clothing, huddling companionably side by side and holding hands.

_I say, this feels wonderful. _

_Would you say “luxurious”?_

_Quite._

Crowley twists himself around to lay atop Aziraphale’s chest, head on the angel’s shoulder, one hand clutching a fuzzy pectoral muscle.

_Hold me, Aziraphale. _

Aziraphale hugs the demon, one hand stroking his velvety fade and running fingers through the quiff. Crowley sighs.

_Angel. You read the Celestial Observer, right?_

_Yes. That was quite the headline yesterday. I compared the coverage with your copy of Infernal Times. Both pieces were remarkably cagey about just who was responsible. _

_No one fingered me? _

_I think the reporters wanted to. Score one for Hell on the one side, versus blame demonic activity on the other. But instead, the Times directly blamed humans. And the Observer would only speculate about possible demonic activity._

_Hell got it right. The Heavenly Host just cannot get their heads around the possibility that they were outsmarted by humans. That Heaven was merely another organization targeted by human criminal hacker groups. _

_One of which you just happen to be the co-owner of._

_Crowley smiles sinfully._

_Yes. That is one side of our operations._

_And the other side?_

_Security against criminal hacking groups. _

_Crowley, you are so resolutely devious._

The demon nuzzles Aziraphale’s neck.

_Mmmmmm. Thank you, Angel. I love it when you murmur sweet nothings._

Crowley tenses.

_That doesn’t mean both sides aren’t out to get me, of course. You know what you say about evil plans._

_That they always contain the seeds of their own destruction?_

_Yeah. Remember when I called you the night I had to deliver the baby Antichrist? Had to call you from Tadfield, using what was probably the last public phone booth within a hundred miles of London. Because I’d spent the evening disrupting the entire mobile phone system and couldn’t call you from my car. _

_I never knew that, Crowley._

_Then there was the whole Odegra disaster. I worked so hard to get the London orbital motorway to be the literal representation of that dread sigil. Was so proud of myself. Christo has nothing on me. And then I got trapped by the burning circle of fire and destroyed the Bentley getting through. While virtuous you just flew over it on a fucking scooter._

_Yes. That was quite a neat miracle, wasn’t it? Considering I was sharing a human body._

Crowley grins.

_On the bright side, I did discorporate Hastur by driving through the flames._

The demon’s face once again lapses into anxiety.

_I’m scared, Aziraphale. Taking down Heaven’s data system is a whole other level of enterprise. I expect to be hunted like a wet fox._

Crowley shudders and clutches harder at the angel’s chest. Aziraphale places his hand over the demon’s, gently pulls it away and locks fingers.

_Why did you do it, Crowley._

_I couldn’t help it. Never expected to find such a fat pigeon sitting right out there in the open. Heaven was just begging for it._

_What ransom are you demanding?_

_We thought ten million pounds was a reasonable offer to restore the database. One pound per angel._

_Will you – what is the term – unencrypt the data if you’re paid?_

_Course not. I’m a demon. We negotiate a slightly lower price, take the money, then completely fry the data. _

_Surely they're not such fools? _

_We’re talking the Heavenly Host, angel. My money is on their taking the bait. Money means nothing to them. It would be irrational for them to not at least try to recover the data. _

_Point taken_

_Data deletion would only be from Heaven’s system, of course. We have it backed up. What little I’ve seen so far seems likely to be very saleable piecemeal to Hell._

_I’m beginning to understand exactly why you’re so worried._

Crowley shudders again.

_Kiss me, Angel. Tell me you love me. That you don’t loathe me because I’m evil._


	83. Gabriel

Heaven and Hell Main Office Building, London. Gabriel is alone at his desk, wearing the robes he was furnished upon reincorporation. Still barefoot as penance. Elbows on desk, hands in hair. Michael glides in. Gabriel sits back wearily in his executive chair.

_Michael. Now what._

She points to the copy of the Celestial Observer on his desk.

_This can only be the work of the demon Crowley._

_How so? The article states that this sort of thing has been on the increase in human computer systems._

_Exactly. Human systems. _

_Oh. _

_Yes. How would they even know we exist?_

Gabriel sighs.

_Have Baraquiel send for the twins, Michael. And Quartermaster._

_Very good, Gabriel._

Michael glides away out of sight.

Gabriel reaches into the pouch under his robes, extracts a red cell phone. Taps the screen once, tenses in suspense as the connection goes through. Visibly relaxes as Beelzebub answers.

_Messenger Boy._

_Prince. Was it Crowley?_

_Ask his angel plaything. Fuck off._

Gabriel grimaces as she disconnects. Well, at least she answered. Wonders what the Observer headline would be if it ever got out that he loves a demon. The ferocious demonic manager of Hell, at that. He sits lost in thought until Baraquiel announces that Michael, The Twins, and Quartermaster are waiting. Rises from his chair and walks over to stand and gaze out at the incredible panorama.

_Send them in._

The four angels approach. Gabriel turns to confront them.

_Do we have any contact at all with the Angel Aziraphale?_

Michael answers.

_Only Uriel, our observer in Tadfield. And possibly Ammun in London. Neither has been of much use. They completely missed your Tadfield imprisonment._

Gabriel gives her an acid stare for having the temerity to bring up incident. Turns to regard The Twins.

_I want you two to go to Tadfield. Find Aziraphale and speak with him. Do not threaten or arrest him._

_Gabriel, demon Crowley is a dangerous foe. He discorporated us almost instantly when we approached Aziraphale._

_I haven’t forgotten. It was in a human consumption establishment, was it not?_

_Yes. What they call a “pub.”_

_Could you observe Aziraphale while you approached?_

_Yes. He was facing us. _

_Did he look as if he were someone being held hostage? That he welcomed your appearance as a possible rescue mission?_

_No. He was eating._

Gabriel winces.

_Did he appear afraid?_

_No. Surprised. _

_Concerned. _

_Have you considered the possibility that Demon Crowley was not jealously guarding a hostage? That he is instead protective of Aziraphale?_

_You mean he feared we would harm Aziraphale? Rather than rescue his hostage from him?_

_Exactly. Consider the possibility that Aziraphale is not in fearful thrall to the demon. That he is not a willing accomplice merely to avoid torment at the hands of the demon._

Michael can’t resist a dig:

_Evidence seems clear that they are bodily lovers, Gabriel. Aziraphale isn’t a mere accomplice. He has surrendered totally. _

Gabriel’s discomfort about this possibility is obvious. 

_His abuse of his celestial body is a separate matter. One cannot blame demon Crowley for Aziraphale’s habit of consuming human sustenance or engaging in lust._

The Twins interject:

_Aziraphale is an angel. We do not lust. We love._

Michael’s lips twitch in a faint smile, unseen by the others. Twin Dorri continues:

_When you interrogated Aziraphale, he was adamant that he and the demon love one another. He seemed very sincere. After all, he was safe with us. No longer the demon’s captive. There was no reason for him to lie._

Aida echoes:

_He should have been thankful for rescue. But instead he was indignant. _

Dorrie agrees:

_And I can understand his resentment. We had him under severe restraint. Treated him as a prisoner. Not as a colleague. _

Aida nods:

_We did not follow the parable of the prodigal son._

Michael turns and gives The Twins a steely look.

_You don’t think he was prevaricating to escape the need for repentance and penance? That he was using love as an excuse for succumbing to the demon Crowley’s wiles? This is the traitor who derailed Armageddon, after all._

Gabriel looks shifty for a fleeting instant before resuming his executive demeanor.

_I think we must take a different management approach to redeeming Aziraphale, Michael. Efforts at retribution and tough love have been distinctly unsuccessful, I think you will agree?_

Gabriel turns toward The Twins.

_I suggest that you approach Aziraphale with the understanding that he does indeed love the demon Crowley. Assume the demon has not seduced him. That just the opposite situation has occurred. Proceed as if Aziraphale is engaged in redeeming a fallen angel._

There is a rustle of surprise among the four angels as Gabriel’s clothing transforms into his favorite lavender bespoke suit. With elegant shoes. Michael murmurs:

_Seems The Almighty agrees with you._

There is a slight rumble of thunder. Gabriel turns toward The Portal, kneels, hands clasped as for prayer. The other angels follow suit.


	84. Evgeny Takes Charge

London. Gabriel’s suite in the Heaven & Hell Main Office building. Gabriel, Michael, The Twins, and Quartermaster continue their discussion. Gabriel turns to Quartermaster:

_Quartermaster, exactly how much of our system has been compromised?_

_I . . . well, I don’t really know. I just keep track of acquisitions and installations. I don’t really understand how all this works._

Gabriel turns to The Twins.

_Dorri? Aida? Care to explain?_

Dorri and Aida alternate speaking, as if from one voice.

_At present, we have powered down our entire wi-fi network and computer system. _

_Cell phones are still functioning, but we doubt they are secure._

Gabriel looks blank. Michael does not.

_Just how up to date are our systems?_

_We’re at least three years out of date. Quartermaster has refused to approve acquisition of newer software and equipment._

_And so many of our staff are now tasked with supervising the population of Saved Humans. We lack personnel to oversee updating the phone and data systems. _

_It is an endless quest. The humans are wily and relentless as their various factions seek to control these systems. They change constantly._

Michael and Gabriel regard Quartermaster with steely gazes. He stands resolute as he replies:

_With Armageddon imminent, upgrading the systems would have been an exercise in futility. After all, Metatron is the one ultimately responsible for record-keeping. The computer and phone systems are secondary._

Gabriel sighs.

_Let us summon Metatron. Formal dress, please. He’s a stickler for ancient protocol._

The five angels walk over to a cabbalistic circle inscribed in the floor before The Portal. As Thrones, Aida and Dorri stand together at the front of the group, each robed in a horse warrior’s red silk brocade gown with side slits, gold embroidered high collar and “horse hoof” cuffs, over leggings and boots. Their wings resemble flickering red and gold flames. Michael and Gabriel stand behind them in glittering short white tunics that seem to float in the air, gold sandals with straps twining to their knees, and golden wings. Quartermaster is at the rear, white military jacket, kilt, and spats, wings as clean and sparkling as new snow.

Gabriel waves his hand and lighted candles appear at the vertices of the geometric design. The circle illuminates. A shaft of celestial light appears, containing the disembodied head of Metatron.

_You rang?_

_Metatron. We have temporarily lost the personnel data stored on our computer systems. _

Metatron looks insufferably smug.

_Indeed. I warned you of the day this might happen. Fortunately my staff continues to update our parchment records daily._

Michael remarks:

_Yes, Metatron. We are aware of your continuing efforts. Something that takes up the entire 13th floor is unlikely to escape our notice. How long would it take your staff to convert your records to digital format if it becomes necessary to reconstruct the personnel database?_

_It took us about seven thousand hours for the initial conversion. You can divide that up among however many angels you like working 24 hours a day. My staff, of course, would not be available for such extra duty._

Metatron continues:

_I understand from the Celestial Observer that you have lost the personnel database to an entity, likely a demon, who is demanding a ransom for its restoration._

_That is true. Even if we pay the ransom, it is likely that the data will not be restored to us._

_But if you do not pay, the data will definitely not be restored. Pay the ransom. Human money means nothing to us. And by the way, Aida and Dorri. Spending hours engaged in sex is an inefficient use of your managerial time._

Metatron vanishes and the cabbalistic circle goes dark.

The angels resume their daily dress. Aida and Dorri morph from aghast to indignant. Gabriel is furious. 

_We will not pay Demon Crowley ten million pounds! That is not on the table! And you two! How could you be desecrating your celestial bodies! Forget the Tadfield mission, you’re going to Housekeeping._

Before The Twins can retort, Michael interrupts:

_Gabriel, you know how tight our staffing situation is. All those humans pouring in from Earth. We’re adding another floor just for this upcoming year alone. Pay the ransom. It’s a chance we’ll just have to take._

The phones inside the pockets of The Twins and Gabriel chime. The Twins are puzzled, as they thought they had muted their phones. Gabriel never mutes his. Pulls it out and opens the connection, listening on his earplug. His gaze mutates from annoyance to dead serious as he gazes at what appears on his screen. The Twins’ eyes widen as they also view their phones. When the caller disconnects, they lock eyes with Gabriel.

_Fucking Hell. Delete that. Now._

The Twins and Gabriel tap their phones. 

_In fact, give me your phones._

The twins hand Gabriel their phones. He clenches them in his fists. The phones melt into glowing smoke that dissipates in a whiff of incense. He walks over to his desk and sits.

_Dorri. Aida. Forget what I said about Housekeeping. You’re going to China to assist Xuanwu in opposing the demon Daji and protecting our staff there. Michael, Quartermaster, respond to the ransom request and make arrangements to transfer the ten million pounds. Now leave me._

* * *

London. A few minutes earlier, inside Bohdan’s lab at Triple S Security. Bohdan and Evgeny are listening to the ongoing conversation in Gabriel’s office. Bohdan smirks:

_They have no clue. Where is Crowley, anyway? He should be listening to all this._

_Off fucking his angel, no doubt. But I think he will agree with what we do next. Let us make that angel Gabriel an offer he cannot refuse. Show me that video from the Tadfield hall._

Bohdan cues up the video recording from Beelzebub’s midnight visit to the Tadfield parish hall. A wolfish grin appears on Evgeny’s face. There is no trace of amusement in his eyes.

_Yes. You have the numbers for Gabriel and those two Asian women angels? Send them a clip._

Bohdan moves the slider on the video to where Beelzebub caresses the penis of the golden statue of Michael:

“_How you longed for my touch! But I am Lucifer’s. You can never have me. He alone is whom I love.”_

_From here to here?_

_Yes. Good._

Bohdan taps keys and quickly extracts them from his phone logs database. More typing, and an emergency ringtone is pushed through.

* * *

Once the four angels have gone their separate ways outside Gabriel’s office suite, Michael goes to her desk and opens her laptop. Attempts to access the phone logs file. Disconnects in disgust as “TEN MILLION POUNDS” appears in a satanic red script on her screen.


	85. A Miracle.  Maybe.

Tadfield. Back room of the bookshop. Aziraphale is seated in his armchair, reading a book as he sips a glass of claret. Crowley breezes in, sends his overcoat to the closet. Stoops and gives Aziraphale a smooch.

_You’ve just started on that bottle, I see._

_Yes. You’re just in time._

Aziraphale uncrosses his legs as he twists around to the little table to pour the demon a generous glassful. Crowley plops himself on the carpet and leans back against the angel’s legs, rustling about a bit to get comfortable between them. Aziraphale hands him his glass of wine. The demon sits with his other hand around the angel’s ankle as Aziraphale strokes his hair. 

_Long day, Crowley? _

_Unhhhhh . . . Do keep reading, Angel. Don’t let me interrupt. I need to relax and think. _

They sit in companionable silence while they work their way through the bottle of claret.

_What are you reading this time, by the way?_

_Tom Wolfe’s last novel, Back to Blood. _

_Any good?_

_Riveting. Features a character rather similar to how I imagine your Russian business associate. A shrewd and ruthless criminal making millions in art forgeries._

_Ruthless doesn’t begin to describe my business partner. He admires Beelzebub. _

_Oh dear lord._

_We have him to thank for Heaven deciding to pay up on the ransom for their personnel records. And me to thank for upping the ante to one hundred million pounds. _

_And Heaven paid?_

_Oh yes. We made Gabriel an offer he couldn’t refuse. _

_One hundred million pounds worth?_

_Said pounds now working their way through a whole lot of cryptocurrency accounts and being ground into cash and equipment. And keeping our network happy with the bonuses they’ve earned. The Chinese crew were particularly gleeful. A good day’s work, I can tell you._

Crowley curls both arms around Aziraphale’s legs as if to snuggle between them.

_What’s worrying you, Crowley?_

_What makes you think I’m worried?_

_You get clingy when you’re anxious. What exactly did you do to Gabriel?_

_You recollect his visit to Tadfield as a statue?_

_Of course._

_And that I promised Mr. Pickersgill that I would see to the installation of better audio equipment prior to the Christmas fete?_

_Go on._

_I also installed a video camera monitoring system. With night vision capability. _

_How does that work, exactly?_

_The cameras act as infrared floodlights when ambient daylight levels are low. Human eyes cannot see in infrared._

_Can demons?_

_Well, as you know, we angels and demons can see quite well in the dark. But if demons could see in infrared, we’d have to be wearing dark glasses all the time. Hell being the kind of place it is._

_Oh. Yes. I suppose so._

_Guessing that’s why neither Beelzebub nor Gabriel noticed the cameras. _

_My range of vision was restricted while I was a statue. Likely so was Gabriel’s. And my guess is that he had no clue about what sort of things the humans were installing. Gabriel routinely refers to human artifacts as “material objects” and seldom gets more precise than that. Probably thought the cameras were some kind of lamps._

_You're quite likely right. At any rate, to continue. The cameras caught the complete scene of Beelzebub’s visit to Gabriel before she discorporated him and destroyed the hall._

_My word. _

Crowley flicks his fingers and a phone appears in his hand. He taps it a few times, hands it to Aziraphale. An ancient language tinkles through the speaker. The angel sits as if stunned when the recording ends.

_Oh good lord. Gabriel loves Beelzebub?_

_You noted the scene where she gives him a little hand job? That’s the clip that my associates sent to Gabriel last night. And to The Twins._

_The Twins?_

_Gabriel had summoned them, along with Michael and that angel you call Quartermaster, to have a little confab in his office. They wound up also summoning the Metatron. Who advised them to pay the ransom. And also chided The Twins on spending hours having sex when they should be working._

_No! You don’t say!_

_I do say. Gabriel had just given them an assignment to go to Tadfield and question you. After hearing Metatron, he cancelled that and ordered them to Housekeeping._

_They’re very proud angels. How did they react to that?_

_At that point my associates transmitted the video to them and Gabriel. They’d been listening in on the whole meeting, of course. We’d hacked The Twins’ phones, and the mikes were active._

_Fortuitous timing. _

_Perhaps. One of my Russian associate’s most endearing talents is an ability to recognize where and when to apply pressure. The other associate is adept at online systems. Was able to cue up and transmit the video very quickly. A delightfully formidable pair of humans._

_Did Michael or Quartermaster see the video?_

_Doubtful. They may have heard the audio, however. Gabriel demanded that The Twins erase the file. Then for good measure he destroyed their phones. So we don’t know what transpired after that. Other than that Quartermaster contacted us to arrange for payment of the ransom. _

_Uriel came in to the bookshop today and told me that The Twins were being transferred to China to assist Xuanwu in dealing with the demon Daji. They were pleased as punch. She said Michael commended her on her report of Daji’s reappearance on Earth._

Aziraphale grins.

_She also said she felt obliged to thank you for your uncharacteristic sharing of information._

_Daji puts the “F” in “Fiend,” Angel. Didn’t want her anywhere near you. Nasty even by demonic standards. The more eyes watching her, the better. Even if they’re angel eyes._

_Has Beelzebub seen the video?_

_Oh yes. _

_Are you actually not going to restore the Heavenly Host’s personnel file, and sell it to Beelzebub instead?_

_Changed my mind about that. Didn’t think it likely that Beelzebub would pony up for the information. Not Hell’s style at all. They’d much prefer to wring it out of me out like a tube of toothpaste. So decided to up the cost for the angels, and let them have their personnel records back. Minus the mobile phone logs and data downloads, of course._

_Why not the phone logs?_

_To protect Uriel and Ammun. They’re pretty good about tracking security, but it only takes one slip._

_Guessing Michael would be keen about that sort of information. She always seems to know where the bodies are buried._

_And the phone logs would tell her._

They sit silently for some while. Then Aziraphale murmurs:

_So you stole a march on Beelzebub. Gave Heaven back their records. Ratted out Daji. And you’re protecting two rogue angels._

Crowley shivers. 

_Haven’t exactly been the model demon lately, now have I. Won’t be pretty when I wind up in Hell again._

_On the bright side, Crowley, you extracted one hundred million pounds from the Heavenly Host. You haven’t yet lost your demonic touch._

_“Yet”? Aziraphale, now is not the time for your theory about how deep down inside I’m really a good person._

_Don’t get shirty, Crowley. The other 99.99% of you is just as wily, sly, demonic, and wicked as ever. No worries, as the human children say._

_I love it when you whisper sweet nothings, Aziraphale. Let’s have some champagne._

Aziraphale extracts himself from the chair and Crowley’s arms, magically changes from day clothing to his ratty cut velvet dressing gown as he fetches a chilled bottle from the little refrigerator and two flutes from an antique cupboard with cut glass panels. Crowley in the meantime has rearranged the two giant pillows from the settee against the front of Aziraphale’s armchair. Magics away his shoes and garments to the valet off by the corner closet, settles into a comfortable sitting position with back to the pillows. Aziraphale sits close beside him, hands him a flute, pours it full of champagne and then serves himself. They clink glasses.

_Bollocks to Heaven._

_Bollocks to Hell._

* * *

Heaven. Earlier that day. Michael, Quartermaster and St. Isidore are clustered behind Quartermaster’s console, expressions taut and intense. Angel heads go up throughout the vast office as Quartermaster and Isidore give a mighty cheer, leap from their chairs and start doing a jig around the desk.

Within the hour a special edition of the Celestial Observer comes out with the headline:

ISIDORE MIRACLE

Hacked Data Restored


	86. Black Forest Cupcakes

Tadfield. Tea time, Valentine’s Day. The couple at the choice table near the window at the front of the shop miraculously departs just as Crowley and Aziraphale enter. The angel and demon seat themselves as DeeDee zooms over to bus the table.

_Madame Tracy made Black Forest cupcakes. You should order those._

_Thank you, DeeDee, for your excellent suggestion. Pot of Earl Grey and two cupcakes, please. _

_Make that 4 cupcakes._

DeeDee scoots off.

_Really, my dear? You hardly ever eat sweets._

_I’m feeling peckish. What are they, exactly?_

_Dark chocolate cake, cherry filling, whipped cream. _

_Mm. Sounds just tickety boo._

_Crowley, I do wish you’d stop tweaking me by using that phrase. I have been trying hard to update my vocabulary and my manner. _

_And with great success, Angel, if I may say so. Don’t become too much of a hipster, though. I love you the way you are. Smooch?_

_Not with every eye in the room upon us, Crowley._

Crowley turns and gazes into the room, raises a languid hand to Adam, Brian, and Wensleydale seated at their favorite table at the back. They appear to be working on some sort of homework or project with their tablets. Pepper is manning the counter while at the far corner table Madame Tracy is chatting with her three gossips Beryl, Myra, and Edith. There are only a few other couples, as the day is gloomy and rain has been intermittently pouring down. Anathema and Newt walk in. Madame Tracy rises and walks over to greet them.

_Why, Anathema and Newton! What a lovely surprise! _

_We’re here for a week, Madame Tracy. I’m assisting a colleague to set up a new shop in town._

_I’m so sorry the weather is so miserable. You must be longing for California sunshine. _

Newt interjects:

_We’re actually hoping for more rain in California. And snowpack in the mountains._

_Oh yes. Those dreadful fires, I suppose. Tell me about this new shop, Anathema._

_Needlework. Supplies for knitting. Lace. Embroidery. If all goes well, we plan to open in about two months. Just after Easter._

_Ooo, how exciting! May I tell the girls?_

_Of course, Madame Tracy. _

_We’ve made Black Forest cupcakes to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Why don’t you each have one, my treat? Now, what sort of tea do you fancy?_

_Your special black blend is our favorite, Madame Tracy._

_House black it is. DeeDee! Black tea and cupcakes for Anathema and Newton, dear, if you please._

Madame Tracy bustles off to impart the news to her friends. Meanwhile DeeDee has delivered Azirapahale’s and Crowley’s cupcakes and tea. The angel places a cake on his plate, carefully peels the paper wrapper, takes a dainty forkful, and sighs in delight.

_Mmmmm. Scrumptious._

Crowley, a cake in hand, peels the wrapper off. Removes the stemmed maraschino cherry from the top, sets it aside on his plate. Takes an enormous bite of cake, rather as a python might consume the front half of a mouse. Two more bites and the cupcake is gone, leaving remnants of cream, cherry sauce, and chocolate shavings on Crowley’s upper lip. Opening his mouth as he gazes at Aziraphale, he licks away the remnants with a suggestively sinuous tongue. Leaning elbows on the table, the demon picks up the cherry by its stem, slowly licks the cream off and sucks it in a lascivious manner as he gazes into the angel’s eyes.

_Really, my dear._

Pepper rolls her eyes. DeeDee giggles. Seeing Anathema’s gaze, Newt turns his head to take a glance, then quickly turns back and takes a rather too large sip of tea. Flinches, as the tea is hot. Anathema pulls the cherry off her cupcake and gives it a similar Crowley kiss. Spots of pink appear on Newt’s cheeks. Edith notices the ripple through the couples in the room, catches Myra’s and Madame Tracy’s eyes. Beryl is concentrating on managing a sip of tea, but their flickering gazes nonetheless cannot avoid catching her attention. Madame Tracy turns her head to regard the pair at the window table, and Beryl turns in her chair to see.

_Oh good lord. What is that man doing._

_Eating a cherry, Beryl. _

_Well! I’ve never seen the like of that!_

_Oh, Beryl. I’m so sorry. Here, have some more tea. Anyone for another cupcake?_

A faint aroma of woodsmoke and musk wafts through the room.


	87. A Very Bad Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter has suggestions that a gruesome event might occur. No explicit details.

Savile Row, London. A pleasant Saturday evening in early spring. Disposable Demon Eric walks into the tailor’s shop where Angel Hekla is the receptionist. He cautiously approaches her desk, on the lookout for the other staff. Sits in a chair alongside.

_Hi,Hekla. Everyone busy in the back rooms?_

_Yes. But it’s almost closing time._

_Want to go see a movie?_

_Daji is back. She came in earlier, invited me to dinner and “a surprise,” she called it. Said she wants to tell me all about Shanghai._

_No! You mustn’t go! She is a demon. You are her enemy. She is planning to hurt you._

_I have my sword, Eric. I have fought demons in the past._

Eric looks distressed.

_Hekla, please. Heed my warning. Daji is an arch demon. She has great power. You cannot best her._

_She says Beelzebub has sent her to Earth to deal with Demon Crowley. But she is not anxious to return to Hell. Because she has fallen in love with me. As Demon Crowley loves his angel._

A dreamy look appears on the angel’s face. 

_She lies! She will discorporate you, Hekla. That is her “surprise.” _

_Tch, Eric. Don't be silly. Daji would never do a thing like that to me. Besides, discorporation has happened to me before. Smarts a bit. I do not fear it._

_You angels are not punished if you get discorporated?_

_Oh yes. We get sent to Housekeeping. It's considered to be greatly humiliating. But I like being a sweeper. _

_You’re not tormented?_

_I suppose the presence of that fat rat Sandalphon could be considered a torment._

_The reincorporation ward in Hell is a terrible place. We’re lucky if we don’t get sent to the boiling sulfur pools as well. And we have to wait for months for reincorporation paperwork to go through._

Hekla grimaces.

_I know about that. Quartermaster Angel puts reincorporation requests to the very bottom of the work pile. And takes it out of our heavenly wages._

_You get wages?_

_Power allotments. I get just enough to do basic miracles like blessings._

The head cutter enters from the back room. Eric swiftly rises from his chair

_Hekla, please. Don’t go with Daji._

He flits out the entrance, feeling the head cutter’s gaze like a lance between his shoulder blades. Glides along in the shadows and takes up a favorite observation spot in a corner of a coffee shop across the street. Nurses an Americano until he sees Daji enter the tailors' shop. Taps his phone a few times as Daji and Hekla exit the shop. 

_DeeDee. Demon Daji is back in town. . . . She is taking Hekla to dinner and to someplace for a surprise. . . . Yes. I think something bad is going to happen, too . . . . I will follow them. Tell Leysa and Demon Crowley. _

He taps a few more times, puts the phone in his pocket, and slips away.

* * *

Islington, London. Hekla and Daji exit the subway station, walk a few blocks to a Chinese vegan restaurant. Eric follows like a shadowy wraith behind. Once the two have entered the restaurant, he quickly zips around checking for a back exit. Finding none likely, takes up a position in an alley across the street where he can lurk watching the front entrance (and a nearby side street, just in case).

About an hour later the demon and angel come out arm in arm. The road is fairly crowded with people out on dates and other missions, and Eric has no difficulty following them unseen for a few blocks until they stop before an old abandoned and boarded up brick church. In fact, he creeps close enough to overhear their conversation.

_. . . It was built in the 1930s to look like a movie theater! Isn’t that bizarre?_

_Are we allowed to go inside?_

_I got permission from the management company. It’s absolutely amazing. Wait ‘til you see it. We’ll use the old side entrance. _

The pair turn the corner and approach an old spiked iron gate to a corridor formed by a head-high brick wall and the side of the building. Daji touches the locks, and with some difficulty the stiff old gate creaks open.

_Should we let it ajar like that?_

_Oh, we won’t be long. I doubt anyone else will try to enter._

Eric carefully peeps round the corridor wall, observes Hekla and Daji go down some steps and enter what appears to be a basement or ground level door. He takes out his phone and taps it.

_DeeDee! Someone come and help me. Daji has taken Hekla into an old church. Something awful is going to happen. . . . Here, I’ll send you the maps link. . . . Side entrance, by the gate . . . . It’s abandoned. Not consecrated ground. . . . No! I’m going in._

Eric pockets his phone and glides down the corridor. The door is now closed, but he carefully and quietly unlocks and reopens it millimeter by millimeter, enters the dark ruin inside. It’s a large bare hall with a stage at one end and a surrounding mezzanine. Flickering light from the street traffic comes through the un-boarded upper portions of high narrow windows. A giant Art Deco skylight allows an eerie nighttime glow to faintly illuminate the interior. The combined effect reminds Eric of Hell. He listens, then catches a glimpse of the couple going into a room beneath the mezzanine on the far side of the echoing floor. It takes him some minutes to creep carefully and silently along the wall over the debris-littered concrete. His manner would make a ninja envious. 

_What is this?_

_It is your surprise._

Daji is behind Hekla. Grasps the angel’s wrists and a pair of shackles magically binds them. Hekla’s ankles are likewise shackled close together so she cannot kick. She struggles to use both feet to do a mule kick backwards, but Daji just laughs, grabs the angel by the back of her belt and levitates her further into the room. Waiting inside is a gurney and a large tray of what appear to be surgical implements – gleaming steel scalpels, scissors, saws, forceps, retractors. . . A slight Asian male demon wearing antique round eyeglasses stands in the corner formed by gurney, the wall, and the tray.

Daji slams the angel down upon the gurney. Snaps her fingers. Hekla’s struggles slow as if she’s surrounded by gelatin.

_Shiroishii, may I present Angel Hekla, our subject for tonight’s dissection torment._

The demon gives a short bow.

_Ah. Most excellent! Thank you for being our subject in this scientific inquiry. We know angels have no excretory functions. What replaces those human organs inside celestial bodies? Now we will find out. We are demons, alas, so we cannot provide anesthetic. I am sure you will understand._

Daji produces a coil of hemp rope and starts to bind Hekla to the gurney using a variety of decorative knots.

_I invented shibari._

Eric has heard enough, and races back toward the entry as he taps in a call to DeeDee.

_DeeDee! They are going to cut her up! Tell m-_

He screams as his phone melts in his hand. Daji instantly shackles him in the same manner as Hekla. He struggles and twists, but she simply levitates him and pulls him along by his hair like a writhing balloon. Once inside the room, she throws him against the wall opposite the gurney, then re-positions the shackles to suspend him on the wall in a St. Andrew’s cross.

_How nice for you, Hekla! Your little boyfriend can provide an audience. _

Shiroishii murmurs:

_Ah! So useful to have a disposable demon. To clean up the mess afterwards._

Daji produces another coil of coarse hemp rope.

_I’ll give you something nice to look at, Hekla, during your torment. We save eyes for last._

She breathes a cloud of fire over Eric. As a demon, he is unaffected by the flames, but his clothing vanishes into sooty smears and tatters. His boots continue to burn, and he writhes in pain. Hekla strains to twist on the gurney so she can make a hand gesture. Eric’s boots disappear. He and the angel lock eyes. Daji proceeds to bind him in a peculiarly painful manner, drawing the scratchy rope tightly over sensitive areas. She takes her time to form very neat knots. They have all night.


	88. Not a Rabbit

London. Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Crowley’s phone vibrates. Aziraphale and Crowley are seated on the couch, dressed in their kilts as if ready to go out.

_Uh oh. Looks as if things have headed south, Angel. I have to go._

They both quickly rise from the couch.

_I’m coming with you, Crowley._

_No you’re not, Angel. _

_I most certainly am._

Aziraphale grips the demon’s upper arm as they walk toward the door.

_Aziraphale, it’s Demon Daji. I don’t want you even close to her._

_I’m not a pet rabbit, Crowley._

They’re through the door and on the landing. Crowley struggles to get away from the Aziraphale, but the Angel’s grip is like iron.

_Dammit, Angel, let me go!_

_No._

Mrs. Allison hears the scuffling in the stairwell and peeps out.

_Is everything all right, young men?_

Crowley grimaces in a cross between a snarl and a friendly grin as Aziraphale escorts him past her.

_Twisted my ankle._

Mrs. Allison peeps out through the window curtain to see a silver Land Rover parked out front, with a small curly-headed girl holding the rear door open. Aziraphale pushes Crowley into the back seat, gestures to the girl to enter, and slams the door after the pair. Goes around to the passenger side and gets in. Fastens his seat belt as the petite blonde woman driver takes off at speed into the late evening traffic.

* * *

Inside the Land Rover. DeeDee is watching her phone, listening on her earbud. 

_His phone disconnected! There’s no signal!_

_How far away are we, Leysa? _

_Maybe ten minutes._

Crowley thinks a moment.

_Aziraphale, remember that miracle you did with the scooter? Think you could do it with this car?_

_I . . . I don’t know, Crowley. _

_Here. Hold my hand. We can share power._

Crowley hangs over the front seat, and grabs the angel’s left hand. Leysa points to her phone in a dashboard holder, which is displaying a route map. 

_We are here. We need to go there._

Aziraphale considers the display, then reaches out and touches their starting point with his thumb, and the destination with his index finger. Slides his thumb to connect with the finger. The Rover rockets into the air, sails over London and plummets toward an old boarded up brick church. The site is at a fairly busy intersection. Aziraphale lands the car with a thump on the broad concrete sidewalk at the front of the church. The passenger airbag explodes in his face. Leysa quickly kills the engine.

_Fookin’ airbag. _

She flicks her forearm and a knife appears in her hand. Stabs the bag to deflate it.

_Let’s go._

As they tumble out, Leysa runs around to the back and unzips two carrying bags. From one she extracts a pair of night vision goggles, which she hangs around her neck. Then a combat helmet with a mounted headlamp. From a long black plastic bag, a peculiar red slab-shaped weapon, which she hangs from its carrying strap along her right hip. Then a weapon that resembles a giant space blaster from some early science fiction comic.

_Demon slayers. _

She jerks her head.

_Around the corner. Side entrance._

* * *

Inside the back room of the old church. Daji finishes with Eric, turns to Hekla on the gurney. Flicks a finger, and the angel’s clothing vanishes. Shiroishii reaches for a scalpel, but the instruments are mysteriously glued to the tray. The two demons turn to glare at Eric, then toward the doorway as they hear footsteps running up.

_A human!_

Daji sends a gout of fire through the doorway.

* * *

DeeDee zips ahead as the four run around to the iron gate, pass through it single file, and down through the door that Eric has jammed open. DeeDee can sense where Eric is, and points across the hall to the doorway to the room under the mezzanine. Leysa lowers her night vision glasses, pumps her weapon as they trot along. DeeDee arrives first, and half disappears through the wall as she takes a look inside. Emerges and gestures to Leysa, right hand with one finger raised and pointing to the right of the doorway, the left hand with 3 fingers pointing to the opposite far left corner.

A gout of fire erupts from the doorway. The millisecond it ceases, Leysa is around the doorjamb and into the right corner of the room, firing her gun at the group of three. Brief horrific shrieks as the two demons bubble, melt, and dissolve into piles of clothing and grey slime. Bright orange liquid puddles on the floor.

_Stay back! Is holy water!_

_Orange?_

_For tracking._

Aziraphale snaps his fingers.

_Let there be light!_

Leysa lowers her night vision glasses. Aziraphale steps into the room, goes over to the gurney where Hekla lies nude. He snaps his fingers, but the ropes and shackles stay intact.

_Crowley. I can’t release her._

The demon peers into the room, snaps his fingers, and Hekla is freed. He does another finger snap to release Eric, who levitates himself into the upper corner instead of stepping down onto the floor. Eric can barely contain his terror.

_The water! Can’t walk through it!_

Hekla jumps up, angrily tipping over the tray holder and scattering the instruments. Looks down and flicks her hands over herself to evaporate all the orange splashes. Then flings herself against Eric’s legs, hands gripping his hips.

_I will carry you across. Hold on._

At that moment, cracks appear in the cement floor and two centipede demons start to rise through it. One shrieks briefly as Leysa fires and drenches it into extinction. But the other is in line with Eric, and she holds fire lest he also be sprayed. A flaming blue sword slices the demon in two, and it discorporates in a cloud of black soot.

_Nice! _

Leysa turns to Hekla and Eric.

_Go!_

Shouldering Eric like a sack of oats, Hekla trots to the door, carefully maneuvers Eric through, and runs off toward the exit. DeeDee flits ahead of her.

_Crowley! Guard them!_

Crowley sprints off. Aziraphale, still wielding his sword, exits the room and guards Leysa as she stands in the doorway and floods the bare spots on the floor with most of the remaining water in her weapons. 

_Let there be light!_

Aziraphale snaps his fingers, and a soft celestial glow illuminates the hall for Leysa. She and Aziraphale sprint off after the others. They’re nearly at the exit when another hideous scream briefly echoes through the hall. DeeDee zooms ahead around the corner, opens the rear door of the Rover, then jumps into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. Hekla drops Eric and the two tumble into the back seat. Crowley slams the door shut. Leysa opens the trunk and stows her gear, carefully zipping the demon slayers into the waterproof carrier. Crowley calls out to Leysa as she takes over the driver’s seat from DeeDee:

_Safe house! _

Leysa pulls into traffic. When the car is about halfway down the block, Crowley flings out his arm and the exterior paint changes from silver to black. The license number also changes.

_Probably OK to stow the sword now, Aziraphale._

_Oh. Yes. Quite._

The blue flaming katana vanishes back into the eighteenth dimension. Crowley takes the angel’s arm.

_Now then, Aziraphale. Shall we take the subway, or walk? There’s a decent tavern a few blocks hence. Good wine list. They often have oysters._

_Let’s walk to the tavern and drink ourselves silly._

_I’m all for that. Heigh ho, says Anthony Crowley._

* * *

Closing time at an Islington tavern. The bartender and head waitress quietly chat as Aziraphale and Crowley wobble out into the night.

_Cor, I was peeved when they hogged the corner banquet, but they made up for it, didn’t they?_

_No doubt. What? Eight bottles of the best . . . oysters . . . every tapas on the menu . . . a burger and chips . . . cheese platter . . . butterscotch tart . . . did I miss anything?_

_Never seen the like, meself. Good tippers, too._

The bartender and waitress shake their heads as they bump fists.


	89. Aftermath

London. Roadway north of Hampstead Heath. Inside the Land Rover. 

Eric has collapsed against the back seat. Overcome by release from terror and shock, he begins to cry. No tears – he’s a demon – just gasping sobs. Alarmed, Hekla turns and puts her hands on either side of his head. She looks indecisive for a moment, then gently strokes his forehead and cheek and breathes a puff of breath into his face. Eric feels cold soft hands, apple-scented breath with a brisk overtone of ozone. Suddenly he feels calm and relaxed. His sobs cease, his breathing slows. 

_Oh. That felt good. What did you do?_

_Blessing. Why were you crying? You were so brave._

_Really? I was so scared._

Eric’s breathing becomes anxious again as recollection crashes in. Hekla twists and embraces him in a convulsive hug. Eric feels a cold soft body against his feverish skin, Hekla’s fuzzy hair against his ear. Stress floods away from him like a waterfall. He sighs and relaxes into warm gelatin.

* * *

East of Hampstead Heath. The very end of a twisting hillside lane. Leysa pulls the Land Rover into a small garage attached to a Georgian house tucked next to a large brick residential building. There's barely enough room to allow the vehicle doors to open. She escorts DeeDee, Eric and Hekla through the vestibule and into a little bedroom with a tiny attached bath. Perhaps a former nanny’s room, although the spare furnishings are now chic and modern. The bed is plump and inviting and covered with a duvet in a sprigged floral print. She turns to Eric and Hekla:

_Shower is there. Spare clothes in closet and chest. Some will probably fit._

DeeDee pulls Leysa’s sleeve.

_Eric and Hekla can stay, Leysa, but I can’t. One of us has to watch Demon Crowley._

_Night shift’s already tailing Crowley. No worries._

_You don’t understand. We are under orders. We must obey. _

Leysa raises a finger, gets out her phone, taps in a call.

_Where is Crowley? . . . The girl demon insists she must follow him. . . . Da. . . . I’ll be by soon. _

Leysa disconnects, stows her phone, and gestures to DeeDee.

_They’re drinking in a tavern. I’ll take you there. Come._

She turns and goes back into the garage, DeeDee following. The sound of an engine, and silence a minute later.

Hekla turns to Eric, who is covered in soot. She gestures toward the corner shower room.

_You first?_

_I don’t want to get close to water for the rest of eternity._

Eric flicks his hands and gradually magics away the soot. Hekla does likewise to remove the smears she’s picked up from him. They stand regarding one another for a long moment. Eric stands slumped and defeated.

_I feel weak._

Hekla steps forward and embraces him.

_It felt wonderful being close to you. You are so warm._

Eric places tentative hands on her back, then pulls her tightly against himself. She’s a bit taller than he is. His lips brush her shoulder. They stand immobile. Then . . .

_Eric. Are you having an erection?_

_I . . . I don’t know . . . Never had one before. . . . But it must be . . ._

_Does it feel good?_

_Unhhhh . . . oh yes . . . ._

Eric is quivering and his breathing is ragged. Hekla’s face takes on a dreamy expression.

_I feel strange, Eric. You love me, don’t you._

Eric whispers:

_Yes. From the minute I first saw you._

Hekla morphs to male. He doesn’t look much different. More defined muscle mass and more carved facial features. Same toffee skin, platinum hair, pale blue eyes.

_Oh! I can be erect, too._

Hekla doesn’t have to tell Eric that. At the mere intimate touch of his beloved angel’s erection, the demon gasps and arches his back, releasing into Divine Ecstasy. Black sparrow wings appear from his shoulder blades, flapping slowly to levitate him and Hekla. The angel pulls Eric’s body tight against his own, then also releases. White fairy tern wings sprout. They float mid-room for hours.


	90. Aftermath Two

[ ](https://imgur.com/NW7Iv36)

Hell. Reincorporation Ward. A translucent Centipede Demon #509 appears. The iguana-headed ward demon behind the front desk smirks.

_Tch, tch, tch 509. Looking a bit peaky, my gal. Now, what’s happened to you?_

_I was cleaved in twain by a flaming sword._

The iguana-headed ward demon picks up the receiver from the forked cradle of the 1930s rotary phone on his desk, dials an extension, murmurs a brief message.

_Angel incident. Centipede 509._

The ward demon hangs up.

_Her nibs will come by for a chat, my gal._

He resumes scratching with a quill pen in his ledger. About an hour later Beelzebub strolls in, followed by six of her praetorian guards. The centipede has curled into a spiral on the floor, but vaults erect like a spring at her approach, bows deeply as Beelzebub confronts her

_509\. Report._

_Lord, all I remember is coming through the floor to Daji’s party. I saw an angel bound to a table. Some sort of orange liquid splashed over 19. He screamed and melted. And then a flaming sword. I was discorporated._

Beelzebub gives the demon a long impassive stare. She had not been informed of any party event. 509 struggles to not squirm in fright under Beelzebub’s unblinking gaze.

_Guards. Bring her to my office._

She flicks a finger, and 509 is reincorporated. Although clamped by three stout iron bands, their flanges tightly bolting her body to a long iron pole. Beelzebub turns and exits. Disposable demons scuttle up and struggle to hoist the pole. 509 hangs limp. Three guards march in front, three to the rear. Hissing whispers rustle goes through the ward after the little parade has departed down the corridor. Things are not going to go well for 509. And where is 19? Why has he not also appeared for reincorporation? Could he have been . . . _extinguished? _The horror, the horror . . .

* * *

Hell. Beelzebub’s office. Three guards stand either side of the massive entry portal. The disposable demons have been dismissed, but lurk out of sight in the corridor, listening hard. 509 lies on the floor, still shackled. Beelzebub reclines in her executive chair, feet on her desk.

_Tell me about this party of Daji’s._

_Lord. That angel she had seduced. She invited Shiroishii to help her torment it. Also 19 and me. And Xrzgyx from the telephone office. It was to be an all-night affair. 19 and I were a bit late. _

_You saw 19 melted by a spray of orange liquid. You saw an angel bound to a table. Think very carefully. What else did you see?_

The centipede twitches a bit as she struggles to recollect the scene.

_Lord. There was orange liquid splashed about the floor and over the angel. And two piles of rags, I think. _

_What kind of rags._

_Lord, I don’t know. Cloth, maybe. Not paper. Something shiny and green. And maybe black. I’m not sure. It all happened very quickly._

_What color was the flaming sword._

_Lord, it was blue. Almost white._

_Had you received authorization to attend this event?_

_Lord, I did not realize I needed authorization._

_Your mistake. Guards. Summon the disposable demons. Escort 509 to the sulfur spa. _

Beelzebub flicks a finger, and 509 is transformed from a centipede into a slimy humanoid eel.

_You are demoted. When you’re released from the pools, report to Dagon for your reassignment as file clerk. _

Beelzebub addresses the assembled guards and disposable demons.

_Take her away._

The eel-demon knows better than to inquire how long the spa session will last. Hangs silent and limp from the shackles as the disposable demons once again perform freight duty and the guards resume their escort.

After the parade has marched back down the corridor, Beelzebub extracts her phone. Calls the telecommunications office.

_Where is Xrzgyx? . . . Last seen when? . . . _

Beelzebub disconnects and gazes thoughtfully off into the distance. When Daji reported yesterday, she was wearing a stylish Chinese jade green silk jacket.

* * *

Hell. Satan is relaxing in his whirlpool of ice, sipping what appears to be tequila with salt. The cocktail glass is enormous, as he’s in his gigantic multi-horned lava-skinned form. Beelzebub, standing on a cliff edge above, is a tiny black-winged doll in comparison.

_Beloved. Something interesting has happened?_

_Lord. I realize it is cocktail time. Forgive me. It seems likely that two major demons and two lesser have been extinguished. Daji. Shiroishii. Centipede 19. Xrzgyx. _

_Beloved, you need never ask forgiveness. Extinguished, you say. Holy Water?_

_I don’t know what else it could be. Centipede 509 survived. Described the liquid as orange. _

_Orange, eh? Odd._

_509 was discorporated by a flaming blue sword. _

_Hm. Hastur said that was the color of the angel Aziraphale’s new weapon. _

_Yes, Lord. And of course the angel and Crowley know all about Holy Water. I have summoned the London disposable demons to report tomorrow morning. They have been ordered to surveille Demon Crowley. They had better have something useful to tell me._

_What in Hell were Daji and Shiroishii doing?_

_Lord. According to 509, they had arranged a torment party for the Angel Hekla. Daji claimed to have seduced this angel. As Crowley seduced Aziraphale._

_You permitted this torment?_

_No, Lord. Daji and Shiroishii planned it without consulting me. _

_Disrepectful of them._

_Indeed, Lord. May I speak frankly?_

_Beloved, you are my strong right arm. You alone have always been observant and wise. Speak as you will._

_Thank you, Lord. I cannot say I will miss Daji and Shiroishii. The old demons have become too stiff-necked and set in their ways. I selected Daji for an Earth mission to insinuate herself into Demon Crowley’s operation. She alone seemed to have some minimal understanding of what he is doing with human communications inventions._

_Such as shaking down Heaven for one hundred million pounds of human currency. _

_Yes, Lord. An impressive prank._

_Well said, Beloved. Giving credit where it is due. I know you do not think highly of my little pet snake. Did Daji succeed in attaching herself to him?_

_No, Lord. He sidelined her off to Shanghai. No great effort on his part. She naturally wanted to return to Asia. But it was her claim to have seduced an angel that of course I found most interesting. Being old school, she must have assumed that tormenting an angel would be an initiative that would please me. Had she not been so arrogant as to act without permission, I would have informed her quite differently. As you know, my utmost priority is to discover how the Demon Crowley and his angel are permitted to experience Divine Ecstasy. Tormenting and discorporating a willing angel was stupidly old-fashioned. _

Lucifer sighs. The hot wind ruffles the surface of the freezing lake. Beelzebub’s wings flutter and save her from being thrown of the cliff. She re-alights on her ledge.

_Lord. Daji’s attitude is typical of our hierarchy. They have learned nothing in six millennia. The humans have outstripped us in despoiling Earth and perpetrating evil deeds. The downpour of damned souls is overwhelming us. It’s all we can do to torment the depraved and stoke the lesser damned into the recycling furnaces. Our Earth missions are now largely listening outposts. That little snake Crowley is the only one who seems to understand that times have changed. The rest of the Dark Council suffer from mental arthritis!_

Beelzebub is so angry she morphs into her damselfly form. Gets control and is once again a female Genghis Khan in an iridescent teal silk suit and sable cap. With black insect wings.

_Indeed, Beloved. Your thoughts mirror my own. I am concerned that the humans will destroy Earth before my son Adam decides to assume his power. _

_Yes, Lord. And Demon Crowley is a slim reed for your son to rely upon for assistance._

_Perhaps not, Beloved. If Crowley and his angel are indeed the ones who have extinguished two arrogant arch demons, that is a major feat. If the event is presented as an object lesson, it might be useful in shaking things up down here._

_Yes, Lord. A demonstration of why we need to change direction?_

_Precisely, Beloved. In truth, The Almighty seems to have maneuvered us into becoming her garbage souls disposal facility. We are proud and mighty demons. Surely we can do better._

_Yes, Lord. The Heavenly Host has become slow and complacent. We must outmaneuver them for dominion of Earth. If we cannot wreck the place, if there is to be no Armageddon, we must bring Earth and its humans under our will. Adam must rule._

_I will await your report on intelligence from our little Crowley observers, Beloved._

_Yes, Lord. _

Recognizing her cue to exit, Beelzebub bows deeply and flies away through the corridors leading back to her office. The glowing incandescent wave preceding her sends demons and damned scattering. Hell is aquiver with gossip. Demons Malacoda and Thompson are busy interviewing every source they can find.


	91. Platoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Might want to click on BTS's "Mic Drop" to set the mood for this one. . .  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTlv5_Bs8aw

[Previous chapter]

_“They float in mid-room for hours.”_

* * *

Hell. In a long-forgotten crypt in Pandemonium is a dusty bier, its occupant overgrown with a hideous organic growth. It resembles an ancient stump that has sprouted countless thousands of suckers, rootlets, and tendrils writhing downward, completely covering the floor in a chaotic mass. The thing has only a vague mound of what might have once been a face. 

Eyes that have been close for millennia open. They have no irises or pupils. Only a spectral green glow. They stare sightlessly at the ceiling of the crypt.

* * *

Hell. Beelzebub’s office.

Beelzebub flies through the massive portal, alights atop her ebony executive desk. Assumes the lotus position. A human and the angel Aziraphale have evidently conspired to assassinate demons and rescue the angel Hekla. Where was Crowley? He had to have been present. Where was his disposable demon surveillance team? . . . Must let her mind explore the implications and potential avenues of action. She sits in meditation for hours. Then rises for the appearance of the London disposable demons at the appointed time.

* * *

London. Eric and Hekla have come out of their Divine Ecstasy and are cuddling together atop the puffy duvet. DeeDee has been waiting patiently outside the door, Beelzebub’s summons trumping the command to watch Demon Crowley. She peeps through the wood, sees the pair on the bed, and enters the room.

_Eric! Check your messages! Beelzebub has summoned us. We have less than an hour before we must appear._

Eric and Hekla sit up. Eric slumps with his face in his hands.

_Eric! What is it?_

_Beelzebub is going to torment and discorporate us, Hekla._

DeeDee protests.

_Maybe not, Eric. She let Tadfield DeeDee go. _

_DeeDee, we rescued an angel and killed 5 demons. Our punishment will be horrible. The centipedes . . ._

Eric shudders convulsively. Hekla throws her arms around him and hugs him to her.

_Eric! Don’t go._

_Nobody disobeys Beelzebub, Hekla. Ever._

The angel looks to DeeDee, who silently shakes her head.

_What can we do?_

_Nothing. We must report._

_I will come with you._

_Hekla! You cannot enter Hell._

_I will wait in the lobby of the Main Office. _

DeeDee already has her phone her hand.

_I'll alert the Tadfield me and the two Erics there. Our cohort in Hell will inform them what happens. I'll tell them to call you. Give me your number. I’ll give you theirs._

_The demon destroyed my phone._

_Then just wait. If we do not return in an hour, we are done for._

_Won’t you be reincorporated eventually?_

_It will be a very long time. And we will not be allowed to return to Earth. _

DeeDee regards the stricken angel.

_I am sorry, Angel Hekla. We must go now. We cannot be late. Get dressed._

Eric and Hekla rise and stand alongside the bed. The demon flicks his hand over himself and is surprised when, instead of his grimy disposable demon rags, his nice London garb reappears– black cashmere sweater, charcoal quilted jacket, black skinny jeans, Docs. Hekla morphs back into female, snaps her fingers and appears in a pale lemon yellow double-breasted bespoke suit with white Prada Chelsea boots. Eric looks down, changes his footgear to black Prada boots like Hekla’s. He and the angel hold hands as the three somberly depart for the main office building.

* * *

Hell. Beelzebub’s office. Eric and DeeDee stand before the 5-meter carved ebony portal to Beelzebub’s office, flanked by the six praetorian guards who escorted them from the base of the down escalator. The heat haze shimmering in the portal ceases and they are allowed to enter. Beelzebub is rocked back in her luxurious executive chair, feet on her mammoth desk as if she’s relaxing in a pool alongside a giant floating raft. The two disposable demons kowtow and lie prostrate on the floor.

_Sit. Tell me what you know about the destruction of five demons in London last night._

Eric and DeeDee sit on their heels. DeeDee’s hand creeps over and grasps Eric’s. She speaks first.

_Lord. Demon Daji made a date with Angel Hekla last night. Eric followed them. He called me to tell me that Demon Daji was going to cut up the angel._

_He invited you to watch?_

Eric speaks.

_No, Lord. I wanted to stop Demon Daji from tormenting Angel Hekla. I called my partner _(he nods slightly to DeeDee) _to summon Demon Crowley._

_Did he come?_

_Yes, Lord. With a human and the Angel Aziraphale. The human had a weapon that sprayed Holy Water. She extinguished Demon Daji and Demon Shiroishii. Then two centipede demons arose through the floor. The human extinguished one. The angel Aziraphale discorporated the other with his flaming sword. Then we all ran from the building. _

_Demon Xyzgrx is also missing._

_The floor of the room we were in was flooded with Holy Water. We heard a scream as we fled. It must have been him._

_So. You two and Demon Crowley assisted an angel and a human to rescue an angel. Destroyed four demons with Holy Water. Discorporated another. _

_Yes, Lord._

DeeDee and Eric are now huddling close together in terror, expecting imminent torture ahead, and lots of it.

Beelzebub lets them stew in silence for a long moment. Then:

_What did you do next?_

_Lord. I and Eric and the angel Hekla entered the human’s car. She drove us to a house. Eric and Hekla stayed there. Then she drove me back to continue surveilling Demon Crowley. He and the angel spent hours drinking in a tavern. Then they walked back to Demon Crowley’s dwelling. I followed them and waited there._

Beelzebub is not sidetracked, despite the image of Crowley and Aziraphale roistering nearly causing her to leave burn marks in the leather chair arms beneath her hands.

_Eric. What did you and Hekla do?_

_L-lord. W-we . . . I . . . I think we had sex together._

_You think?_

_L-lord. I have never done that before._

_What happened? Tell me exactly._

_L-lord. We were naked. Demon Daji had burned my clothes and removed Hekla’s. We hugged. I had an erection. Hekla became male. She had an erection, too. When our penises touched . . ._

Eric struggles with his strangled voice. But he’s unable to prevent the wistful happiness that washes over his face.

_You became ecstatic._

_Lord, is that what it’s called? It lasted for hours. Not like human sex._

_Do you love the angel Hekla?_

If the room were not already like an oven, heat waves would be shimmering off Eric. DeeDee cringes and closes her eyes. Here it comes.

_Y-yes, Lord. _

Suddenly, as if giant hands have grasped each of the disposable demons by their collars, they rise like limp puppets. Then stand rigidly at attention, like wilted leaves that have suddenly achieved turgor. Their eyes glow uranium green. Beelzebub quickly lowers her feet, rises from her chair and stands erect behind her desk.

_Prince Legion._

_Prince Beelzebub. Harm not my minions._

_Furthest thing from my mind, Legion. They have performed a service for me. I am sending them back up to London._

The two immanences of Legion give Beelzebub a long silent stare. Then:

_I, as you, have been faithful to Lord Lucifer from the beginning. Do not cross me, Beelzebub._

The green eyes fade, and the two disposable demons slump to the floor like rag dolls. Beelzebub flicks a finger, giving them a little zap to speed up their revival.

_You will return to London._

She walks over to a massive drum. Picks up a giant stick and with a violent swing of her arm beats the drum only once. A thunderous echoing boom resounds throughout the farthest corners of Hell.

_Disposable Demons London Platoon. Report to my office._

There is no need to add, “at once.”

It’s been over two years since the drum sounded. Demons drop their work and stand silent. The damned regard one another with questioning looks. From various corners the London Platoon trickles like blood through capillaries, into veinlets, then veins. . . They all have earbuds and are listening to their phones. As they begin to group together, they start to chant and dance march to _MIC Drop_, doing an impressive version of the BTS moves. Phalanxes of other disposable demons ensure that the crowds in the dingy corridors part to make way for platoon members, using mop handles to prod the occasional recalcitrant.

Beelzebub addresses Eric and DeeDee.

_Meet your platoon in the corridor. Lead them to Demon Crowley. _

She suspends the portal’s demon fryer. The two demons scramble to their feet, bow low and back out.

* * *

Heaven & Hell building lobby. Two bored security angels stand upright at the top of the up escalator. A lone angel from Housekeeping languidly sweeps a corner at the back. An infernal racket erupts from the down escalator as a platoon emerges of about fifty demons clad in black hoodies, tees, trainers, and a variety of hats, headbands, and beanies. They go into formation, a handsome young male demon with fuzzy bunny horns and a teenage female demon with a mop of tight curls leading them in performing a sort of haka, chanting something that sounds like “Did you see my bag?” 

_Did you see my bag  
Did you see my bag  
_ _트로피들로 _ _백이 _ _가득해  
How you think bout that  
How you think bout that  
Hater_ _들은 _ _벌써 _ _학을 _ _떼_

_이미 _ _황금빛 _ _황금빛 _ _나의 _ _성공  
I’m so firin’ firin’ _ _성화봉송  
_ _너는 _ _황급히 _ _황급히 _ _도망 _ _숑숑  
How you dare  
How you dare  
How you dare . . ._

Random gouts of blue flame and sulfurous smoke erupt as the demons continue their chant. Heat roils through the lobby and up the escalator.

The two security angels stand open-mouthed for a brief moment, then speak into their mouthpieces and move close, blocking the top of the escalator. They draw their flaming swords. More angels glide up, just in time to see the housekeeper angel below transform into an elegant platinum-haired woman in a yellow suit and white boots, white wings flared and upright. She stands like a commander and gravely confronts the performers. But her sword is not drawn.

The lone angel who speaks Korean struggles to force her way through the crowd to reach the security guards, gestures with alarm as she speaks.

_Go down! They will abduct her as a trophy!_

Too late. The demon platoon gives a final fist pump and cheer, then with an explosion of flame they turn and spill out the exit like buckshot, slipping like shadowy wraiths into the streets of London. The two lead demons bow and stride up to either side of the angel, each taking one of her hands. The two demons sprout black wings, and the trio zooms like falcons out the exit before angelic security even thinks about stopping them.

[Steve Aoki’s remix has the best choreography]


	92. I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls

Aftermath in Mayfair

London. Mayfair. Aziraphale and Crowley are holding hands as they weave homeward after drinking until closing time at an Islington tavern. Although it’s a Saturday night, their neighborhood of Mayfair is comparably deserted at this early hour. Crowley breaks into song during the last block, doing a countertenor version of _I Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Halls. _

He finishes the last verse, complete with coloratura, as they wait for the lift to their flat.

_But I also dreamt, which charmed me most, that you loved me still the same, that you loved me still the same . . ._

The grill opens and they tumble into the tiny old lift. Crowley flops against Aziraphale, hugs him and kisses his neck.

They make it as far as the new couch. Discover that Divine Ecstasy is possible even when lovers are tipsy.

* * *

Early dawn.

_I say, Crowley, this couch is so perfect. We don’t even need to levitate much._

The demon writhes around and lays his head upon the angel’s chest. 

_Yep. Feeling peckish enough for breakfast? Or maybe just a cappuccino?_

_After last night’s gorge, I cannot even contemplate going out for breakfast. A cuppa would be welcome, though._

_It’s Sunday. We could just fuck all day instead._

_Until Sunday dinner at the club? You love that._

_Mm. Sounds like a plan. Shall we adjourn to the bedroom? I’ll go fix our coffee and tea._

Crowley ambles into the kitchen, starts the electric kettle, goes over to the expresso machine, which always mysteriously manages to produce a perfect giant cup of cappuccino sans beans, water, or milk. Complete with foam depicting an angel wing. The demon takes a sip as he scrutinizes the selection of teas Aziraphale has accumulated. Selects a Scottish breakfast tea heavy on the Assam. 

The kettle having reached the correct brewing temperature (it always does, and promptly), Crowley gets out the Meiji lacquer tray with its antique black Jackfield tea set, lace doily, and silver spoons. Crowley would have preferred crockery that was black and contemporary, but picked out this antique set instead because he thought Aziraphale would enjoy it more. The set obligingly fills itself with milk, sugar, and the proper amount of brewing tea. 

Cappuccino in one hand, tea tray alarmingly balanced upon the other, Crowley waltzes into the bedroom, where Aziraphale is now comfortably propped on the giant pillows at the head of the bed. Sets the tray down upon the angel’s lap so he can have the pleasure of adjusting his cuppa to his own satisfaction. Aziraphale lightly levitates the tray so it doesn’t tip as Crowley hops into bed close alongside him. The angel pours his tea, adds sugar and cream, sends the tray over to a landing on the bedside table. They hold hands as they sip.

Beverages imbibed, Aziraphale magics away the cups and tray to the kitchen. Grins at Crowley

_How I love doing trivial miracles._

Crowley slides an arm across the angel’s shoulders, gives him a smooch as he caresses Aziraphale’s delightfully fuzzy chest.

As if on cue, both their phones sound. Crowley’s makes a quacking sound like a mallard duck. Aziraphale’s chimes celestially.

_Fuck. Knew this would happen._

They both magic their phones to hand.

_Uriel._

_DeeDee._

_No! You don’t say! . . . My word. How extraordinary. . . . Where are you? . . . _

_Where are you? . . . The fucking roof? You’re out of sight? . . . Good. . . . We’ll be right up._

_The Twins are still in China? . . . Good. . . . I’ll call you back shortly._

The angel and demon disconnect and regard one another. Crowley tips a finger toward Arizaphale, who takes the cue to speak first.

_That was Uriel. There was some sort of demon riot in the lobby of the Main Office. They have abducted the Angel Hekla._

_They didn’t abduct her. She’s in the rooftop stairwell right now with Eric and DeeDee. They fucking flew there._

_In broad daylight?_

_Not exactly broad yet. Get dressed, we need to get Hekla out of London. DeeDee says angels are flooding out of the Main Office and searching the streets._

The two leap out of bed, magic on clothing, and are out the door and up the stairwell in less than a minute. DeeDee and Eric cringe a bit at Aziraphale’s close presence.

_Do not worry, my dears. I will not harm you. Come with me, Hekla. We must get you out of London, and quickly._

He gently takes Hekla’s arm and escorts out the rooftop doorway and into the little Cabri G2 helicopter. Takes a helmet off the seat, hands it to her to don. When she’s seated, adjusts the safety straps. Puts on his own helmet, straps himself into the pilot’s seat, goes through the safety and start up sequence. Some minutes later, the little helicopter takes off in magical silence and flies away westward over the Thames.

Crowley turns to the two disposable demons.

_Now then, you two. Let’s have a little chat over coffee, shall we? Nothing’s open in Mayfair at this hour, we’ll have to slope off elsewhere. _

He gets on his phone, makes a brief call. An unremarkable Ford Fiesta pulls up just as they exit the building. Crowley hops in the front, the two disposable demons in the rear, and the car zooms off. Several minutes later, what appear to be a man and a woman in cream colored jogging suits race around the corner. Too late, angels.

* * *

Elina Garanca https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMaLhIbYJoM


	93. Commander

London. Crowley’s Mayfair flat. Aziraphale is waiting on the couch, sitting primly with knees together and hands in his lap. He rises as Crowley bursts through the door, barely has time to take a few steps before the demon embraces him in a passionate hug. 

_Oh, Crowley. Feeling pursued again?_

Crowley just twitches as if to nod, “Yes.” Aziraphale puts an arm around the demon’s waist and escorts him over to the couch. Crowley curls himself against Aziraphale, head on the angel’s shoulder.

_I’m apparently now the head of a platoon of disposable demons. Eric got up to something with the angel Hekla last night. Divine Ecstasy resulted._

_You don’t say! I wondered about their behavior before she got into the G2. They seemed so much like young lovers._

_More than “like.” And then Beelzebub summoned DeeDee and Eric to report what they knew about the five demons destroyed Saturday night. And of course she wrung every last detail out of them._

Aziraphale groans. Crowley continues:

_DeeDee and Eric were expecting epic torment and discorporation. _

_For destroying fellow demons? Making love to an angel?_

_Oh yes. You can imagine everyone’s surprise when Legion decided to make an appearance. DeeDee says she possessed them, then demanded that Beelzebub not harm them. Beelzebub replied to Legion that they had done her a service, that she was sending them back to Earth. And then she kicked them out into the corridor, telling them to meet the London Platoon of Disposable Demons. With the exact order, and I quote, “Lead them to Demon Crowley.”_

_Oh dear lord._

_The platoon was jubilant about getting to Earth again. _

_That was the riot in the Main Office lobby?_

_Yep. Here, I’ll show you the video._

_Video?_

_Yep. I took the opportunity to have some newer cameras installed during the reconstruction. _

_Crowley. You are such a snake._

The demon smiles delightedly as he spends a few moments tapping his phone and then clicks the flat screen into life. They watch the performance.

_Hekla was sweeping the lobby?_

_She sneaked in the back entrance. Was waiting to see if Eric and DeeDee survived their interview. They’d told her that wouldn’t be likely. If they didn’t reappear in an hour, she’d never see them again._

_So she wasn’t confronting the demons, but welcoming them?_

_Yep. _ _Where did you drop her off?_

_At Tadfield Manor. I called ahead to Mary to inform her. Your two Erics there raced up in the Rolls almost before the rotors had stopped turning. Never in a thousand years would I have imagined two demons approaching an angel as if she were the Queen. Extraordinary._

_Why the manor?_

_Uriel and Ammun were on their way back from London. I bicycled to the farm to await their arrival. We had a long discussion there._

_I’d’ve liked to have been a fly on the wall at that one._

_Indeed. It was most intense. Apparently Headquarters made them report. Fortunately they knew nothing of what happened Saturday night, so plausible deniability likely saved them. _

_Beelzebub would have squeezed them like lemons and tossed the rinds to the rats for being so ignorant._

_Well, Gabriel and Michael evidently did some version of that. But of course _(Aziraphale laughs) _Gabriel’s notion of demotion and disgrace was to continue their assignments to Tadfield and London. Slumming amongst those disgusting humans, doncha know._

_Not sent to Housekeeping for a decade or two?_

_Oh no. Gabriel knows what Ammun is capable of. There’s a reason he and Michael have been keeping Ammun sidelined on Earth. _

_Once a god always a god, eh?_

_Oh yes. He’s far more formidable than I. They let him back upstairs, he’d take over both their jobs in short order. The Twins think he’s the cat’s meow. Uriel says they’re always trying to fix her up with him._

Crowley guffaws.

_You know, Aziraphale, you angels could give demons lessons in prevarication. _

_Crowley, play that video again, would you? The dancing and chanting is really quite impressive. DeeDee as leader is quite the little saucepan isn’t she?_

_Here, I’ll show you what they were dancing to. A Korean popular music group. Judging by what I find on their phones, the disposable demons spend every spare moment playing games and practicing hip hop dance moves. Beelzebub is going to regret ever letting them taste Earth._

_Hip hop? Is that . . ._

_No, it’s not bebop, Angel. Fast forward 70 years. Watch this._


	94. Hampstead Demons (Not a Football Club)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley reviews his platoon of Disposable Demons

[](https://imgur.com/GiQ2Gqn)

London. Crowley’s Mayfair flat. He and Aziraphale continue their discussion of the Disposable Demons.

_Singing and dancing aside, Aziraphale, I can’t say I’m thrilled about Beelzebub’s saddling me with 50 young demons of excitable outlook._

Crowley folds forward, rubs his hands over his face and through his hair.

_Crowley. Let me massage your feet. You’re stressing._

The demon simultaneously flicks his hand to change into his silk dressing gown and writhes around to lie with his back on the carpet and his feet atop the black pillow the angel has placed in his lap.Aziraphale works Crowley into a relaxed noodle as they continue to chat.

_Crowley, just what _are_ you going to do with 50 demon scamps let loose in London?_

_I sent them to rally for the time being at Leysa’s training headquarters in Vale of Health. Met them there for a brief review._

_Vale of Health? Isn’t that where the council was contesting some development of an old travellers' caravan camp? And they’re making that woman tear down her cabin?_

_Yep. I’ve been renovating some properties there for the past decade. The caravan camp and nearby woodland make it a nearly perfect hideout. _

_I wonder how the residents would feel if they knew their posh neighborhood was being turned into a haven for demons and . . . well, I hesitate to use the word “criminals,” Crowley. How would you describe your enterprise?_

_“Criminal” works just fine. I’m a demon, Aziraphale. Remember? But to answer your initial question, the disposable platoon has already been in London for a bit. Beelzebub had dispatched them to locate and trail me. So they already have some ability to navigate. _

_Ah. So that’s how DeeDee found you in the pub when The Twins showed up to arrest me._

_Yep. They’re a tough little bunch. No complaints about living rough. And they make good use of their phones to share info. Daji had no idea what she’d unleashed with that one._

_Artful Dodgers, would you say?_

_And then some. You’re of course familiar with DeeDee’s party trick of floating through walls. I sent a squad of her off to steal a shipment of 50 new Samsung phones from a warehouse. _

_Really, Crowley. That’s a theft of 50 thousand pounds._

_I didn’t tell them that it was our warehouse and the phones were already paid for. A practice mission to test our CCTV tracking app._

_See see tee vee tracking app? _

_Maps the locations of those surveillance cameras that the Met have set up all around London. Also private security cams. Useful info to know if you’re trying to be evasive. Simple lurking in shadows is so last millennium. _

_I read that they’re going to implement facial recognition with these cameras?_

_Yep. That ought to be fun, when most of my little platoon are clones and look identical._

_Are they all Erics and DeeDees?_

_About half. The rest are a mix of a generic Asian and a brown-skin-black-hair type that could fit in most anywhere. We did a brief review of how to dress in dark colors to blend in with a neighborhood without drawing attention. Basic rules for petty theft if they want to adjust their wardrobes. Humans can be quite vindictive about that sort of thing._

_I suppose so. I know how outraged I feel when someone attempts to pilfer a book._

_At least you don’t resort to violence, as humans do. They turn it on quickly, too. _

_Yes. Volatile in the extreme if the right buttons are pushed. _

_I asked how many of the platoon had been discorporated by a human._

_Quite a few?_

_About half dozen. They were ashamed to raise their hands. Until I raised mine as well. That cheered them up a fair bit. So we had a little discussion of what to be alert for, the importance of going about in pairs, how to apply effective retribution without maiming or death. _

_Whence the squeamishness about maiming and death?_

_Attracts attention. The objective is to do just enough damage to deter, but not elicit a police report. My Eric and DeeDee bodyguards said they have a fair amount of information to share about defensive retribution. So I told them to conduct a group discussion for that purpose after I’d gone. Then I brought up the rats._

_Rats? Oh good lord._

_Most useful creatures. You’re never far from a rat in London. Treat them right, and they become a decent emergency network. _

_I simply must know. Exactly how does one treat a rat right?_

_Well, you have to learn their calls, for starters. Takes a bit of practice to get the summoning squeak just right. And you must reward them with the right food. Rats are picky eaters. _

_You don’t say! I’d never have guessed that._

_They have to be, considering what human habitations offer up. Take just a taste. Wait awhile. If you don’t get sick, go back for a second helping. Tell your mates._

_My word. So what do you use as a tempting reward that will immediately appeal?_

_I favor fruit and Brown’s Tropical Carnival Mouse & Rat Food. Keep some packets of the stuff in storage so it can be magicked to hand quickly. I demo’d the rat call. When a couple dozen showed up, magicked up a little snack for them. Asked them to hang around and help the platoon learn the summoning squeak. Then I bowed out._

_You’ll have to check in with them tomorrow, I suppose._

_Yep. I’m afraid you’ll have to fly back to Tadfield alone, Angel. Unhhhhh . . . do that bit some more. Feels great. . . _

Crowley slips off into slumber. A few minutes later he’s snoring softly. Aziraphale carefully lifts the foot-laden pillow and sets it to the side. Rises and goes over to the liquor cabinet to pour a glass of sherry. Flicks a hand to swap into his atrociously comfortable flannel and velvet dressing gown. Goes back to the couch and settles himself, magics to hand the copy of _Black Country Girl in Red China _that he’s about halfway through, and reads as Crowley sleeps.


	95. Truckload of Demons

Mid morning in Tadfield. The kitchen of the old farmhouse at Crowley’s Croll Farm. Ammun, Uriel, and Crowley are seated at the antique wooden table, sipping tiny cups of hot sweet Moroccan coffee.

_. . . and that’s how I wound up being uncle to a platoon of disposable demons._

_Bunch of sassy scamps like DeeDee? Or Handsome and sinister like the Erics?_

_Mixed bag. Mostly Erics, then DeeDees. But also a generic Asian corporation. And a sort of brown-skinned black-haired type that could fit in just about anywhere around the Equator. Didn’t you see the video of their lobby dance?_

_No._

_Well then. Let’s adjourn to the living room. This really requires the flat screen._

* * *

Crowley clicks off the video.

_Fookin’ Hell. Hekla’s got sand, to confront something like that. Letting their eyes go fiery was a nice dramatic touch._

_She was welcoming back her lover, Ammun._

_Even so. Scary little pack of fiends. _

_Yep. Strong. Clever. Sly. Coordinated. All they lack is power. They can do basic smiting and simple miracles like levitation, but that’s about it. With the possible exception of London Eric. I observed that he’s sporting Prada boots like Hekla’s. He explained that he can magic changes to his wardrobe now without my having to give him a model._

Uriel and Ammun regard one another. Uriel murmurs,

_I suspect Hekla can do a few more interesting things now, too. Do you know her story?_

_Unh-uh._

_I took her bicycling around the village yesterday. We met Janet and Georgia for lunch. Georgia can interrogate like nobody’s business, even through a couple bottles of wine. She extracted Hekla’s tale from her._

_Well c’mon, c’mon. Tell us._

_The short summary is, about six centuries ago she got stationed to a Viking outpost in Greenland. The humans burned her at the stake as a witch. Or sorcerer, actually. She was male at the time. Got sent to Housekeeping for getting herself discorporated. When her sentence was up, she didn’t put in for Earth reassignment. It was the 16th century and the humans were still burning witches. _

_I can see how that might have spooked her. They didn’t just burn them, you know. Preliminary torture was part of the package._

_Yes. At any rate, she got left in Housekeeping and forgotten._

_Just how did she wind up in a shop on Savile Row, then?_

_Michael. Called her on the carpet and accused her of malingering. Gave her the choice of Earth or filing personnel records on Metatron’s floor. She told us how she liked the freedom of being a sweeper. Could go anywhere and be completely unnoticed. The mere thought of being stuck at a dusty back desk was intolerable._

Crowley looks alert.

_So she knows Heaven’s layout pretty well, does she? They must be keen to find her._

Uriel regards him sharply. Then sighs in exasperation.

_Not so sure about that._

_How could they not be keen? Six hundred years of poking in corners? She knows where all the bodies are buried. As the humans say. _

_Do you know, they haven’t even officially contacted me yet? All I know is what crumbs The Twins drop. And they’re still in Shanghai. I doubt they even know that Daji has been extinguished. Have you checked your messages, Ammun?_

_I got a bulletin to be on the lookout for Hekla, with her description and picture, but they didn’t ask for my assistance. _

Crowley is looking more interested by the minute.

_So Heaven still thinks Hekla was merely a ranker accidentally abducted by demons? _

_That was before we left London last night. Don’t know what’s on the phone now. Left it in the drawer in London._

_And once again Beelzebub outmaneuvers the Heavenly Host._

The three remain silent and thoughtful for a long while. Then Crowley murmurs,

_Got any deliveries in London today?_

_No. We’re taking the day off here._

_Excellent. You can truck my platoon to the meeting that Adam has called for tonight._

_Bloody fookin’ Hell, Crowley. Angels transport a truckload of demons? Have you lost your fookin’ mind?_

_Well, they don’t know how to drive yet. And the Young Master wants to meet them. I know you’re not scared of them, Ammun. You and Uriel could smite them to ashes in an eyeblink. So what exactly is the problem?_

Ammun’s outraged face morphs into a speculative gaze. Then he grins at Crowley.

_Bollocks to Heaven. Where do we scoop ‘em up?_


	96. Baepsae Platoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even demons like BTS. Really, my dear.

Tadfield, late evening. The ballroom of Tadfield Manor. Adam is seated behind a long table at the center of a dais, Pepper, Brian, Wensley, DeeDee, and the twin Tadfield Erics to his right, Crowley, Aziraphale, Uriel, Ammun to the left. Everyone is dressed casually, Crowley and Aziraphale in their kilts. Adam turns and nods to Crowley.

_Young Master. Meet your Baepsae Platoon._

London Eric, Hekla, and London DeeDee enter. Behind them seven rows of seven Disposable Demons dance march and chant.

_They call me baepsae  
Yokbwatji i sedae  
Ppalli chase ’em  
Hwangsae deoge nae garangin taengtaeng_

_So call me baepsae  
Yokbwatji i sedae  
Ppalli chase ’em  
Geumsujeoro taeeonan nae seonsaengnim_

_Ah noryeok taryeong jom geumandwo  
Ah ogeuradeureo nae du sonbaldo  
Ah noryeok noryeok ah noryeok noryeok  
Ah noraguna ssaksuga_

_Ah Noryeok taryeong jom geumandwo  
Ah ogeuradeureo nae du sonbaldo  
Ah noryeok noryeok ah noryeok noryeok  
Ah noraguna ssaksuga_

_(urin baepsaeya) silmang an sikyeo  
(urin baepsaeya) ireumgabthane  
(urin baepsaeya) gachi saljago  
(urin baepsaeya) baepsaeya_

_They call me baepsae  
Yokbwatji i sedae  
Ppalli chase ’em  
Hwangsae deoge nae garangin taengtaeng  
  
So call me baepsae  
Yokbwatji i sedae  
Ppalli chase ’em  
Geumsujeoro taeeonan nae seonsaengnim_

When all have entered the hall, the chant ends. Eric, Hekla, and DeeDee bow low, hands outstretched. Behind them the ranks kowtow to Adam, foreheads on the floor. Adam regards them in silence. Then, having discussed the protocol with Crowley beforehand, merely says:

_Attention._

The trio at front stands upright. The ranks behind them sit erect on their heels, hands on their thighs, gazes focused upon Adam. While appearing to be an average of 18, their resemblance to the popular music group from whom they’ve adapted their chant and dance moves ends abruptly as their subtle savagery registers. There are the usual goth eyes and ragged dark clothing adorned with skulls, daggers, serpents, goat horns, Luciferian sigils. But it’s the unblinking feral intensity of their gaze that alarms the angels and humans. They radiate heat. The odor of spent gunpowder permeates the room. The appearance of the almost luminous angel Hekla at the head of such a troop is especially disconcerting to Uriel and Ammun, whose faces are grave and hostile. Adam is unconcerned.

_Crowley, introduce them._

_As you command, Young Master. Witch Pepper, Councilor Brian, Councilor Wensleydale, may I present to you the Angel Hekla and the Baepsae Platoon of Disposable Demons. _

The demons extend their arms and bow from their seated position until Adam says

_At ease._

The platoon sits upright again, this time in more relaxed postures.

_Crowley, explain your plans for them._

Crowley addresses Adam.

_My head of security is teaching them how to drive. They will also do advanced driver training at our Tadfield track. Basic security techniques of krav maga and weaponry. They’re already good at surveillance and tracking._

_Guns?_

_Yes. Not to carry. Defend against. Being aware of a sniper’s range, for example. How to unload a confiscated weapon. Knowing how to jam mechanisms with precision magic._

_No messing about, Crowley._

_Absolutely not, Young Master. There will be no tempting humans. We are here to serve you._

_I don’t think there’s room in Tadfield for so many._

_Indeed, Young Master. Tonight they will prowl the streets of the village and surrounding lanes so they understand the local map. Tomorrow they will return to London, to work as Ola taxis once they have mastered driving. As a training assignment to learn how to navigate better in human society. _

Wesley pipes up.

_You’ll only need four driver’s licenses?_

_Very perceptive, Councilor. _

_Isn’t DeeDee too young?_

_They’re all much older than they look, Councilor._

_Are they all named Eric and DeeDee?_

There’s a rustle among the platoon. Crowley turns and regards them.

One of the Asian-appearing demons raises her hand and bows.

_Lord. We choose the name Jin._

A cocoa-skinned demon with dark curly hair likewise raises his hand and bows.

_Lord. And we are Manny._

Aziraphale whispers to Crowley.

_My name is Legion, for we are many?_

Crowley nods.

_DeeDee, Eric, Jin, and Manny, Councilor Wensleydale._

Adam stands. The demons stiffen to attention.

_Welcome, Angel Hekla. Welcome, Baepsae Platoon. _

He gestures to tables set up along a far wall.

_Crowley has provided stuff for a party for you. Tadfield DeeDee and Erics can stay. The rest of us will leave now. You are dismissed._

The Them, Uriel, Ammun, and Aziraphale rise and head toward the entry doors. Crowley is the last to leave. Turns as he exits, and purrs:

불타오르네_Bultaoreune._

The platoon leaps to their feet, pumps fists.

_Fire! Fire! _싹 다 불태워라_Ssak da bultaewora, bow wow wow._

_Crowley smiles a snaky smile._

용서해줄게_Yongseohaejulge._

* * *

The four kids roll their bikes over to the where the Bentley and Uriel’s freight van are parked and stay awhile chatting with the supernatural beings. Brian looks worried.

_They’re a pretty scary gang, Crowley. Not like DeeDee and your two Erics._

_Yep. But you don’t have to worry about them. They’re here to afflict me. Beelzebub’s exact order to them was, “Lead them to Demon Crowley.” Make of that what you will._

Ammun growls,

_They won’t touch you kids. You’re Adam’s crew. And Crowley could torch the lot of them if he felt like it._

_Angel Hekla could do a fair amount of torching all by herself. I asked to see her flaming sword. Leysa tells me it’s a Viking machete. _

_Angels don’t use machetes._

_This one does now. You should see it. She tried it out by clearing a couple of small trees._

_Fookin’ hell. She didn’t get that from Quartermaster._

_Nope. And it flames blue. Like Aziraphale’s._

A long moment of silence as everyone digests this.

Pepper makes a face.

_Hekla and the London Eric are fucking, aren’t they._

Aziraphale regards her with kindly amusement, as one might a feisty kitten.

_Anyone can fuck, Pepper. It would be more correct to say they are lovers. A quite different situation._

Wensleydale looks uneasy. Brian notices, and speaks for him:

_She . . . she doesn’t . . . um . . . do the entire group, does she?_

_No, Brian. They’re all individuals, even though they resemble one another and go by the same names._

_Do demons and angels often become lovers?_

Crowley grins at Uriel and Ammun’s obvious discomfort.

_Nope. Pretty sure Angel and I were the first. You were just now introduced to the second. _

_Whoa._

Another long thoughtful silence.

Loud singing can be heard coming from the ballroom.

The Them look at one another.

_Crowley, is that “Fire”? By BTS?_

_Yep. It’s one of their favorites. They put it on repeat._

Crowley laughs.

_They don’t perform for humans. But if you think they were alarming tonight, you should see them dance to “We Are Bulletproof.” _

Wensley mimics shoving in a magazine and firing a pistol.

_Click click bang bang, we just sing it like._

Everyone turns to look at him.

_DeeDee’s been teaching me to dance. “We Are Bulletproof” is really hard._

Aziraphale murmurs:

_I rather enjoy listening to “Magic Shop.” Crowley plays it when we drive in the Bentley. _

Crowley rolls his eyes and sings,

_Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh OH oh._

* * *

Even demons (and one angel) like BTS. Really, my dear.

Baepsae [little birds]  
Lyrics and translation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5efWmDqX3KQ  
Dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPM7uIuB2Gs

Fire  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2cTZTqBU1Rc

We Are Bulletproof  
<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gqhWHy0rrtM>

Magic Shop <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=38k5zr1e0HI>


	97. Hideout

Tadfield. Evening in the parking area of Tadfield Manor. The Them and the four supernatural beings continue their conversation after leaving the Disposable Demons to their party. Adam speaks.

_Uriel, I think you should report to Heaven that Hekla is safe in Tadfield._

_Was about to suggest that myself, Young Master. Uriel, Ammun, how do you want to do that without spilling all the beans? _

Crowley gets out his phone, walks a bit apart from the group, spends some minutes in muted conversation as Ammun and Uriel strategize back and forth.

_Crowley and Aziraphale were the ones actually present at that circus Saturday night. I think it best that you and I keep schtum about it. Simply report that Hekla has showed up in Tadfield._

_Safe and sound. She’s staying with human friends of Aziraphale’s. Had a bad fright. Wants to stay on Earth, but doesn’t want to go back to London. _

_That tailor’s shop she was working in has no doubt made inquiries as to why she didn’t report for work this morning. _

_We can say the demons destroyed her phone. Which is true._

_Heaven probably still thinks Hekla was abducted. We fookin’ sure as Hell don’t want to say she ran away with demons._

_Seeing as how I supposedly still don’t know anything different, I can simply say that Crowley and Aziraphale brought her to Tadfield. Let Gabriel and Michael puzzle out the whys and wherefores of that one in their own time._

_Ha! I’d like to listen in on that conversation._

Crowley looks up, rejoins the group.

_We play our cards right, Ammun, we can do just that. I have a little package you can slip into Gabriel or Michael’s phone, Uriel. They won’t even know it. Enables listening in on the microphone. _

_But if they ever do find out, Crowley, they’ll know it was from me. I took a big risk already when you asked me to transfer that thing to The Twin’ phones._

_Gabriel destroyed those phones. My associates are kicking themselves that they didn’t slip in the malware when they sent that Beelzebub video clip. But it was a rush situation. One can’t think of everything._

Ammun growls.

_I’ll do it. Drive back to London tonight. Say Uriel called me to report that Aziraphale and Crowley brought Hekla to Tadfield. That Hekla is now frightened of London. Wants to stay in the village. But won’t give Uriel more details. Seems shell shocked or something. Pretend Uriel doesn’t know anything more than that. I’m technically her superior, so it wouldn’t surprise anyone that she would report first to me. Uriel, do you even have the direct Head Office number?_

Uriel makes a disgusted face.

_No. They make me go through Reception._

_There y’ go. _

_What if Michael summons Hekla to report?_

_Hm. I could say that Aziraphale told Uriel that London is crawling with demons. Doesn’t think it safe for Hekla to go back there just yet. _[Laughs] _Can’t see them summoning Aziraphale to report so they can wring more details out of him._

_What if they want to send a squad to retrieve Hekla?_

_I’ll suggest they simply give me a new phone to pick up and deliver to her instead. I’m at least as good as a squad when it comes to dealing with the Demon Crowley._

Crowley snorts. 

_Well, that might buy us some time, at least. Your Head Office isn’t going to be fobbed off for long if they think a demon riot abducted an angel. Those tossers get their hands on Hekla, they’ll wring her like a tube of toothpaste. _

_Probably I’d best be going. ‘S getting late._

_Why don’t you and I take the little Cabri, Ammun? It’ll get to London faster than the lorry._

_Fookin’ hell. Never thought I’d see the day that I’d be flying into London with a demon._

_You’ll love it._

_I’m sure. When’s your new H-160 arriving, Crowley? I’d love to have a shot at piloting that._

_Still in the certification process. When did you learn to fly, Ammun?_

_One fookin’ war after another in my former turf, Crowley. _

_Oh yeah. Of course._

_Let’s get going, demon._

_Uriel, you can give Angel a ride back to the bookshop?_

_Of course, Crowley._

_Ciao, gang._

Crowley and Ammun trot over and jump into the Bentley, roar off toward the little helicopter pad.

The Them say goodbyes and ride off in a pack on their bikes.

Uriel shows Aziraphale how to climb into the lorry cab. . .

* * *

London. Ammun and Uriel’s apartment over their small freight warehouse. The roof of which is now decorated with a tiny helicopter that London Air Traffic Control somehow mysteriously allowed to land.

Ammun scrolls and taps to place a call as he murmurs,

_Geronimo._

_Michael. I have some news for you about that angel, Hekla. . . . Hey, Gabriel. You two watching a movie together? . . . Got a call just now from Uriel in Tadfield. She reports Hekla has shown up there. Principality Aziraphale has her stashed with some of his human friends. . . . Uriel says Hekla is pretty shook up. Had some sort of bad scare she can’t talk about. Shell shock or something. . . . She went on a date with Demon Daji? You’re fookin’ kidding me. . . . Are you completely sure about that? I thought that lovely monster was off in China. . . . Huh. That might explain why Aziraphale thinks Hekla should stay in Tadfield. According to Uriel, he says London is crawling with demons right now. . . . Fookin’ hell, damned if I know. All I saw is that article in the Celestial Observer. ‘S not like I have a direct line to Beelzebub or something. . . . Uriel says Hekla’s phone was destroyed by demons, that’s why. . . . Nah. How about I pick up a new phone for her tomorrow morning and drive to Tadfield. I can debrief her there. . . . You’re joking, right? I don’t need any squaddies to protect me from the likes of Crowley. We go ‘way back, as you well know. . . . Anything I should know about Hekla’s history? . . . Fookin’ hell. Doesn’t have much luck on Earth assignments, does she. Brave of her to want to stay. Shows some grit, that. . . . All right. I’ll drop by entry Security early tomorrow morning. Tell Quartermaster to get off the mark and not dick around. I’ll expect that phone to be waiting for me. . . . Roger that. Talk to you tomorrow._

He stashes the phone back in a drawer, inside a little Faraday cage that Crowley gave him.

_Well. That went down a treat. Wanna go to a pub?_

_Was looking forward to some tango practice with Angel, actually._

Ammun’s face assumes a happy leer.

_Guessing Uriel might be up for some tango as well. How about a shot of Tarquin’s, just for the road?_

Ammun reaches into a cabinet over his desk and extracts a bottle of gin and two glasses. Pours four fingers’ worth in each.

_Bollocks to Hell._

_Bollocks to Heaven._

The two clink glasses, drink down their gin like lemonade, and head for the stairway to the roof.


	98. Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illustration by AiwaSensei.

[ ](https://imgur.com/zw0zsJd)

Tadfield. Tadfield. Doorstep to the bookshop. Crowley stands unmoving a moment, eyes flicking to the left and right. Then he enters, trots into the back room. Flings himself onto the Victorian settee, snaps his fingers to swap into Aziraphale’s tatty old brown cut velvet dressing gown. Aziraphale is drinking claret, pours Crowley a generous glassful and hands it to him. Crowley looks around, as if listening for something. Then a commanding bellow:

_DeeDees! This bookshop is off limits to observation. Avaunt!_

He waves his arm as he snaps his middle finger against his thumb. Outside, a dozen teen girls scatter into the street like a flock of small birds, rubbing their stinging noses.

_Tch. Little pests!_

_Sometimes. At least they do follow orders._

_Everything go swimmingly in London?_

Crowley horse laughs.

_I should have recorded it. Ammun is priceless. When Michael answered and put her phone on speaker for Gabriel, Ammun asked them if they were watching a movie together._

_Cheek!_

_It went downhill from there. He got them to agree to let him debrief Hekla, bring her a new phone. Then told them, and I quote, “Tell Quartermaster to get off the mark and not dick around. I’ll expect that phone to be waiting for me.”_

Aziraphale laughs in delight.

_You don’t say!_

_I’m starting to see your point about why they don’t want him swaggering around the Main Office._

_Indeed. Keep him sidelined on Earth._

Crowley takes a sip of wine and looks thoughtful.

_Angel, have you considered that we now have a copy of the Heavenly Host’s personnel files. An angel on tap who knows what’s where in the Main Office building. Another angel who's hip to the power structure. A platoon of Disposable Demons. An angel who could cheerfully kick ass and take charge. And of course my human associates who, at this moment at least, have a fair amount of money and power according to Earthly reckoning. _

_Crowley. You’re not plotting a raid of some sort._

_Oh no. We don’t have nearly the strength. Besides, Adam would never permit it. But if he ever decides to take action, I’m wondering if we can be there for him._

_Not that he needs us, of course._

_Actually, he does. He’s in the same spot as The Almighty, if you look at it one way. Wants us to work it out for ourselves without outside interference. _

_Saves a good deal of micromanagement effort, I suppose. Keeping an eye on all those sparrows must get tiresome._

Crowley grins. And then his expression sobers.

_There’s Hell to consider, of course. Heaven isn’t the only opposition team. I suspect you missed an implication of Eric and DeeDee’s encounter in Beelzebub’s office. That Legion possessed them._

_Is that unusual, Crowley?_

_Legion withdrew from active participation in the Dark Council nearly two thousand years ago. She sleeps in a crypt somewhere in Pandemonium. I don’t know where exactly, but am pretty sure the Disposable Demons do._

_You don’t say!_

_I do say. You remember what she was capable of back in the day._

_My word, yes. Anything involving lots of fanged heads, she was there. Odysseus had that run-in with her. You know, I often find it amusing what humans record as myth versus what actually happened. They usually get it just backwards._

_Yep. Look at Milton. Believed that biblical scribe who wrote that Satan tempted Eve, when it was good ol’ me. I never get any press._

_Why do you think Legion has awakened?_

Crowley gives Aziraphale an intent stare.

_Think about what happened Saturday night between Disposable Demon Eric and Hekla, Angel._

_Oh dear lord. Divine Ecstasy._

_Legion’s already the peer of Beelzebub in Lucifer’s command structure. Beelzebub controls from the top, Legion controls from the bottom. All those Disposable Demons._

_Ah. Like thousands of Heklas. _

_More like a hundred thousand Heklas. Part of the furnishings. Observing and listening to everything, disregarded by all._

_A formidable information network._

_Just so. She’s the flip side of Beelzebub. They work back-to-back for Lucifer._

_Here, Crowley, let’s finish the bottle._

They drink in silence for awhile.

_Shall we start another, Crowley?_

_How about some tango practice instead. Something to take our minds off absolutely everything else. _

_Let’s wear trousers. Kilts are a nuisance during lifts._

Finger snaps, and they’re attired in their tailored slacks and shirts. Aziraphale in lavender puppytooth trousers and cream dress shirt. Open collar and no tie, but with cufflinks nonetheless. Crowley in pinstripes and his sleeveless black undershirt. Both are barefoot. They adjourn to the center of the bookshop.

_I like that dance music you found last week. How did you dig up that one, anyway?_

_Well. I like that song you’ve been playing in the Bentley. So I looked on YouTube for more works by that group. _

_I’ll bet that was an adventure._

_My word, yes. The song is called, “Ddaeng.” Believe it or not, it’s the romantic orchestral version of a sassy little rap song. I liked the clever way the musician combined a traditional Korean stringed instrument with the synthetic orchestra. A sort of piquant spice to what I would ordinarily consider smushy elevator music. And the beat seemed perfect for tango._

_Well then, cue the Sonos and let’s get started. You lead. I don’t want to have to make even one more decision today._

They work their way through several replays of the song, practicing various lifts and steps. Then:

_Angel, let’s do 'Black Swan.' Shirtless. I love feeling your cold arms against my body._

Crowley snaps his fingers to makes it so. Stands regarding the angel for a long moment, then snakes closer and runs his hands through Aziraphale’s chest fuzz, up his neck, and into his wooly hair. Leans against the angel’s body and does a serpentine writhe from his ankles upward. Aziraphale hugs him tightly. And that’s as far into the dancing as they get. The rest of the night is spent in Divine Ecstasy.

* * *

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RyU_l-hVw7w


	99. Crowley's Busy Day, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only Tuesday.

London. Dawn. A nondescript office building in north London. Evgeny, Bohdan, and Crowley are seated around Bohdan’s console in the computer lab at Triple S Security. Bohdan extracts an iPhone from a Faraday bag.

_Gave her the latest model, I see._

_That’s unprecedented for low-ranking staff. According to what I hear._

_Shall we take a guess that the passcode is 432836?*_

Bohdan keys in the code, and the phone grants him access. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

_That certainly makes things easier. They never learn, do they? Crowley, can you detect the encryption key?_

Crowley touches the phone with one hand, and one of Bohdan’s screens with another. A block of numbers and letters appears.

_How the fuck do you do that?_

_Maths are intuitive to me. _

Crowley’s eyes stare off vacantly into the distance as a reflective look appears on his face. 

_I used to help build nebulae._

The demon snarls as his face contorts in pain and he crouches over in his chair. His breathing becomes rapid and shallow and heat radiates from his body.

Bohdan lunges forward and fumbles hurriedly to open a certain drawer, grabs a vaporizer with a bowl already packed with Crowley’s special blend, ignites it and places it against one of the demon’s clenched fists. Crowley grasps the little machine and takes a huge lungful as the smoke wafts out. It takes the whole bowlful before he’s relaxed and stretched out in the ergonomic executive chair. Bohdan and Evgeny sit motionless as rats in the gaze of a cobra and watch him the entire time, exchanging only occasional glances.

_Thanks._

_Need more?_

_Nah. I’m good._

_Earbuds? You can space out while we load up this phone._

_Sure. Can you cue up “Seven”? I’ve only listened to it a couple of times._

_No prob. Here you go. Want some cheese crisps?_

_Got any that won’t turn my fingers orange?_

_These white cheddar ones are great._

Bohdan hands Crowley a giant partly-emptied bag, and the demon slowly munches as he listens to the music. But behind his dark glasses, his eyes are only half-closed as he intently watches Bohdan’s operations.

* * *

Tadfield Manor, early morning in the work day. Mary is behind her desk, Evans and Crowley in comfy chairs in front.

_Any problems with the party crowd last night?_

_A bit noisy at first. But they knocked off at around 10:00 and we got no complaints from the other guests. The head of housekeeping left just before you came in now. She said there wasn’t anything for her staff to do in the ballroom. In fact, it looked cleaner than it’s been since the remodel. _

_Good._

_Slight problem with one of the bins, though. Plastic lid somewhat melted. Full of ash, which the disposal company won’t like. They expect everything to be bagged._

_I’ll send DeeDee over to put the ash into bags, so they know what to do next time. Does a replacement lid need to be procured?_

_I’m checking on that. You never know with equipment. _

_If finding a new lid turns out to be awkward, just replace the whole damned bin. I’ve really called this little convo to discuss Karen. She’s asked me if she could go to school to learn helicopter mechanics._

Evans sits a bit straighter in his seat as he speaks to Crowley.

_Did she make this request yesterday, by any chance?_

_No. Last week. What happened yesterday?_

_A bit of a kerfluffle in the shop, sir. I had to fire the new mechanic._

_Jack? The middle-aged guy?_

_Yes._

_Go on. Let’s hear the whole story._

_I didn’t see what happened. Will and Tommy said Jack has been nosing round Karen ever since he came on here. But she warn’t interested. Yesterday he got a bit fresh and copped a feel. She gave him a smack in the chops that sent him staggering. That’s when the yelling and shouting started. I heard the ruckus and started out of my office, but I didn’t get there in time. Tommy said he and Will got between the two. Will said Jack made some nasty crack about Karen and niggers. Will said that warn’t no way to talk about workmates. Jack got a bit truculent. You remember he’s a big one compared to the two boys. Tommy thought he were about to swing at Will. But then the Erics come round. Will says one Eric put his hand around Jack’s throat and the other hand on his nuts. The other Eric grabbed Jack’s fist and twisted his arm around his back as nice as you please. Tommy says the Eric with the throat hold gave Jack such a look, it caused him to go limp like he were about to faint. Tommy, he saw it face on, said he’d have pissed himself if it were him Eric had been lookin’ at. Eyes went all funny. Dark, like. And grinnin’ like Death debating whether to rip Jack from crotch to neck, or neck to crotch. _

Crowley murmurs,

_They do it both ways. Eric didn’t pull a knife, did he?_

_Oh no. I’ll have none o’ that in my shop. Would have fired the Erics on the spot._

_Be sure to tell them that. _

_Are you saying they’re carrying, Mr. Crowley?_

_Not exactly. Just tell them, no knives._

_They must come from a pretty rough place, sir. _

_“Rough” doesn’t begin to describe it. They’ll do what you say, Evans, because they don’t want to go back there. Let’s just say they’re good in a fight. Continue your story._

_Very good, sir. That’s when I come up. The Erics released Jack and let him fall to the floor, then hopped over to Karen. She looked a fair bit shook up. I told her to go to the canteen for a cuppa. One Eric put an arm round her waist, the other one put an arm across her shoulder, and they led her off. I stayed to talk to Will and Tommy. Then I fired Jack and told him he had half an hour to clear out. Went to find Karen and the Erics. That was when she said she wanted to go to school to become an aircraft mechanic. Told her she warn’t to have no more bother from Jack, not to feel she had to clear out on that score. She said she wasn’t running away. Just thought working on your helicopters seemed more interesting as a career. I were skeptical, sir. But seein’ as how you say she already mentioned it to you last week, maybe it warn’t just a reaction to the dust-up._

_Everyone went back to the job for the rest of the day?_

_Oh yeah. Will and Tommy took Karen to the Bull & Fiddle after work. Along with their girlfriends, I mean._

_But now we’re down one mechanic. Mary, what’s the current list of applicants look like?_

_I have a spreadsheet right here, Master Crowley._

Mary taps her keyboard, turns the large monitor so Evans and Crowley can view it.

_Sort out the white males, display everyone else._

A few moments later, the display changes. 

_Sort by experience. Let’s see who floats to the top._

The three examine the wide screen.

_Evans, you want to interview the top six, or more than that?_

_I’d like to review the top dozen, Mr. Crowley, and pick six from that lot for a closer look._

_Hire three. We can afford it. Busy season coming up. That way we can get past losing Jack and sending Karen off to helicopter school._

_Thank you, Mr. Crowley._

_Where’s Jack off to, by the way? _

_His home turf’s up in Liverpool. I imagine we’ve seen the last o’ him, sir._

_Let me know if you hear otherwise. And now, I must be off. I’ll talk to Karen. Good work, both of you. _

Crowley rises and blows out the door.

_Ciao._

Evans and Mary look at one another, simultaneously release their breath.

_Whew. Never a dull moment round here, eh, Mary m’ gal? Do you suppose our number one candidate wears one of those thingamabobs?_

_Do you mean a hijab?_

_Those head scarves mooslim women wear?_

_Yes. Let’s hope so, Jimmy. Diversity is good management practice these days._

* * *

_*_432836 = HEAVEN


	100. Crowley's Busy Day, Part Two

Tadfield. The drawing room of St. Cecil and All Angels rectory. A threadbare carpet on the wooden floor before the fireplace. Two short sagging old couches are placed parallel across from each other, a battered coffee table running between them. Two tatty armchairs facing the fireplace and a spindly floor lamp complete the furnishings.

_Thank you for the tea, Mr. Pickersgill._

Crowley takes a sip. The faint odor of scotch whisky wafts around the room. He looks around.

_You know, vicar, this is a beautiful old Georgian building. Shame it hasn’t been kept up._

_I heartily concur, Mr. Crowley. Every day is an offense to the spirit. Being unable to afford the upkeep this building deserves is a sore trial. Nonetheless, I feel lucky to reside here. _

_You and Madame Tracy are soon to be married, I understand._

_Yes, Mr. Crowley. Her little bungalow is so cozy, I confess anxiety about bringing her into this drafty old barn. Let alone a lively teen such as her ward DeeDee._

Crowley leans forward to put his teacup on the small table, then leans back in his chair with his elbows on the armrests and hands steepled. His head tips slowly from side to side as he regards the vicar as a swaying cobra might contemplate a small mammal.

_Then I hope you will be receptive to what I propose for the rectory, Mr. Pickersgill. _

_And that is, Mr. Crowley?_

_Your bishop was easily convinced to allow a supplement to your salary to be in the gift of Tadfield Manor. Following the historic tradition, as I understand._

_The manor was a nunnery and birthing hospital for some years, is that correct?_

_Entirely. A devastating fire caused the demise of the order. Ownership of the derelict building was transferred to Mary Hodges. _

_Whom I understand you assisted in getting out of financial difficulties caused by . . . some sort of riot with firearms?_

_Paintball guns. A corporate training session went bad. There were no serious injuries. Once we got the lawsuits and damages sorted and constructed the driving course, the place has received steady bookings ever since._

_The Halloween Ball was quite a bit of fun, I must say._

_Just so. And the hall provides a fair number of employment opportunities for our local young people who don’t seek higher education._

_Your track manager, Mr. Evans, is also quite active in our substance abuse remediation effort. _

_Yes. He was an insistent voice for space for such programs to be included in the parish hall reconstruction. We’ll get to that project in a moment. But back to the rectory building. Has your bishop informed you that the property is now once again part of the estate of Tadfield Manor?_

_No! You don’t say! The church, too?_

_Yes. Affiliation with the Church of England is maintained by the rather complicated contract, of course. _

_I cannot believe you managed such a property transfer._

_Made the bishop an offer the Church couldn’t refuse. Justification was the real estate and buildings reverting to the historic estate._

_Owned by you._

_Yes._

_Oh dear god. A parish owned by The Devil._

_Not “The” devil, Mr. Pickersgill. I’m just a minor demon._

_If you’re minor, I fear to contemplate what your superiors must be like._

_Yes. Well. Lucifer and Beelzebub are certainly worthy opponents of The Almighty. We all know that. But that’s not my mission here. I’m here to serve the interests of our young Antichrist Adam Young. Who prefers Tadfield to be maintained as a peaceful and beautiful village._

_I must tell you, Mr. Crowley, that ever since the revelations at Christmas, I’ve been feeling as if I’m living in some sort of hallucination. Angels. Demons. A teen Antichrist. A veritable vortex of spiritual activity in what I imagined was my obscure village retreat from the hierarchy._

_If your higher-ups only knew, hey? You seem to be the right man for the job, though. A flexible thinker. You have no idea how rare a trait that is among humans. Even more rare in angels. _

_But not demons?_

_Let’s just say Lucifer was the original flexible thinker. Knocks spots off all comers._

_So I’m in good company with Satan, am I?_

_And Beelzebub. And Eve, too. Also._

_I cannot say I predicted my religious career to end in damnation. _

_You won’t know that until judgment. Besides, damnation isn’t so bad once you get used to it._

_The worst part would be my superiors gloating, “We told you so.”_

_So you expect to see them down there, too, do you? Judging strictly from what I’ve witnessed, you’re not wrong about that._

The vicar laughs.

_Pray continue, Mr. Crowley. I am now agog to learn your plans for the rectory._

_It’s going to take some work. But we’re in no rush. If you’ll be so good to meet with them, I’ll have a preservationist team come in and give us a prioritized list of recommended repairs to the structure and grounds. The building is listed as Grade II. _

_‘Twill be a pleasure, Mr. Crowley. Simply message me the information. I can easily rearrange my schedule to accommodate them at any time._

_I hope you concur with the objective to restore the building and make it once again tidy and comfortable, but not posh?_

_Oh yes. Thank goodness you said that. I’ve seen what interior decorators do to old rectories. I confess I would be most uneasy having to live amid such upscale splendor. _

_We’d expand the housekeeping and grounds maintenance staff at the manor to include duties at the church and rectory. So you needn’t worry on that score. I’ll be increasing your stipend with the expectation that you and Madame Tracy will enjoy scouring the surrounding territory for suitable furnishings. Don’t be leery of expensive antiques. Simply keep me apprised if you find something you’re keen on. Tadfield Manor has staff who can assist you with the bookkeeping to track expenses and request outlays._

_I must ask, seeing as how I seem to have gotten myself entangled in what can only be called a deal with the devil, what must I contribute as my part of this bargain?_

Crowley grins.

_Most astute, Mr. Pickersgill. I would like you to consider the income producing opportunity of renting appropriate rooms as a bed and breakfast. _

_I should discuss that with Madame Tracy, Mr. Crowley. But I suspect she will be delighted at the prospect. She is very sociable. As is that scamp DeeDee._

_Well then. I’ll await the outcome of that conference. Now, as to the reconstruction of the parish hall. We provided various architectural firms with the scoping document after surveying our local residents. _

_I hope it won’t feature a swimming pool and a bowling alley. _

_Oh no. We’re striving for a more dignified venue than that. But I am capable of taking a hint, so I’m working toward other locations for those particular activities. Seeing as how so many residents are keen on them. Keep that under your hat, if you will, please._

_Certainly, Mr. Crowley. _

_One environmental architecture firm has been especially fast off the mark. Almost as if they were hunting like hawks for such an opportunity. I’ve brought their preliminary proposal to you to see._

Crowley snaps his fingers and a thick binder appears on the table. He regards the vicar.

_I dislike carrying a briefcase. If you will take up the binder and turn to the artistic renderings in the back?_

The vicar does so.

_As you can see, the design features a rather dramatic solar roof. And an interior hanging garden. Which I must say I personally find irresistibly attractive. Also those narrow stained glass windows in the west wall. The text says they’re designed to be illuminated by evening sunlight. A time of day when the hall is most likely to be used. A central St. Cecil surrounded by four angels._

The vicar gives Crowley a keen look.

_With images possibly modeled upon our local angelic crew, Mr. Crowley?_

_Ah. So you’re aware we now have a fourth, are you?_

_The young woman with the cottony hair, deep tan, and extraordinary pale blue eyes? We went bicycling with Uriel yesterday. _

_Yep. That’s the one._

_Are she and the young man with the bunny ears hairdo a couple?_

_“Lovers” is more accurate._

The vicar sighs.

_Some days I wonder if marriage has become a thing of the past._

_It would have to be a civil affair in any event, Mr. Pickersgill. Eric can’t venture onto consecrated ground._

_Oh. I suppose not. He is related to your twins at Tadfield manor, I take it?_

_Very. But to continue our discussion of the parish hall. The heating and ventilation system of windows and interior walls is remarkably complex. And there will be rainwater catchment such as they now do in Germany. Very high tech filter and water storage. Similar engineering for septic and grey water processing. The surrounding field is ideal for such a situation. _

_Will the farmer object?_

_No. I’m the farmer. The former tenant was anxious to get out of agriculture. _

_So you made him an offer he couldn’t refuse?_

_Oh, he was quite delighted by the offer. Just like Farmer Croll. Practically skipped out of the office. I got the impression he believed he’d pulled quite a fast one. I’m hoping word gets around that banker Crowley is an easy mark for those desiring to unload their unprofitable lands._

_Which of course calls the question, Mr. Crowley. Why would you invest in such unprofitable enterprises?_

_My goal is to keep Adam happy, Mr. Pickersgill. I’ve discussed with him a project for re-wilding some lands as well as converting others to more environmentally friendly farming practices. Evidently there’s quite a movement toward such efforts. I see it as yet another employment opportunity for local talent. As well as the parish hall and Tadfield Manor providing conference and training facilities for such enterprises. Have to put on some front of schemes to earn respectable income and support the local economy._

_“Respectable” income, Mr. Crowley?_

_As in keeping up appearances, Mr. Pickersgill. I know banker Love is always muttering about how I’m somehow using Tadfield for money laundering. Hence the need to appear to be making an effort to have properties pay._

_Yes. Mr. Love is indeed rather a gossip on that topic. You might consider having a word with him before he gets too entrenched in his suspicions._

_Oh, he’s entirely correct. Nonetheless, you’re right that it’s not wise to let such rumors float around unchecked._

A wry smile appears on Mr. Pickersgill’s face.

_Somehow I suspect you’ll know exactly how to present a persuasive argument to silence Mr. Love._

_You could say I have a special talent for that._

Mr. Pickersgill continues to smile as he examines a few more pages in the binder.

_I see there is an exterior glassed-in stairway to the top floor. No elevators?_

_Oh yes. There must be elevators for those who can’t use stairs. But the architects’ rather clever idea is that an appealing stairwell with spacious views of the countryside will encourage a bit of unconscious fitness building activity._

The vicar laughs.

_I believe that’s called that a “nudge” nowadays?_

_Exactly so. At any rate, I’ll leave this binder with you overnight, if I may. _

_Of course. I will examine it carefully. I must say, Mr. Crowley, your ideas for our rectory, parish hall, and surrounding lands are most impressive. I would not have expected such imaginative plans . . ._

The vicar pauses as he realizes what he's almost said.

_From a wicked demon?_

_Forgive me, Mr. Crowley. Old prejudices surface at the most inconvenient times. If you’ll accept my apology, I 'll endeavor to extract my foot from my mouth._

_Oh, I forgive you, Mr. Pickersgill. Only natural you’d be surprised by a Satanic entity trying to improve a place. Rather than turning it into smoking rubble, as my boss did. And now, I must be off. No, no, don’t get up, Mr. Pickersgill. Pour yourself more tea and send some time with that binder. I can see myself out. Ciao._

And Crowley blows out of the room and out the building, toward the waiting Bentley.

* * *

The Guardian:

<https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2020/feb/25/the-end-of-farming-rewilding-intensive-agriculture-food-safety>

Buildiings with features described by Crowley actually exist. For example, Seattle’s Bullitt Center.

<https://bullittcenter.org/>


	101. Crowley's Busy Day, Part 3 - Stable Employment

Tadfield. The kitchen in the old farm house at Crowley’s Croll Farm. The three angels Uriel, Ammun, and Hekla and the disposable demon Eric are seated around the battered old table. Eric is distinctly nervous about being in the presence of the two powerful angels, and is holding Hekla’s hand. Crowley blows in, tosses a small carrying case into the refrigerator, turns a chair around and sits with his arms folded atop the chair back.

_The refrigerator is probably overkill. The carrying case blocks the microphones._

Ammun murmurs:

_You think someone will be listening in?_

_That’s a definite “Yes.” And location tracking, always. _

Hekla is puzzled.

_Is my Heaven phone in that case?_

_Yep. It’s inside a Faraday pouch that blocks radio waves so it can’t receive and transmit. But the microphones can pick up speech unless the phone is soundproofed. Hence the special case._

Ammun growls:

_We do the same thing with Hekla’s phone that we do with mine and Uriel’s right?_

_Yep. She already has another phone. Eric’s gone over the security drill with her. Keep the Heaven phone in its box in a drawer. Out of the box, assume it’s always listening and reporting everything. _

Hekla is no dope.

_Reporting to Hell as well as Heaven?_

_Yep. Heaven loaded some cheap off-the-rack spyware onto it. We loaded something far more capable. But enough about the damned phone. Have you three come up with some sort of story for your head office?_

Uriel replies:

_We think so. Georgia took Hekla and Eric with her today when she went to her riding lesson in the Cotswolds. She said she oughtn’t to be surprised any more by how horses react to supernatural beings. But she was astonished when a little stallion there apparently became your instant biffle, Hekla._

_Biffle?_

_Bee ef ef el. Best friend for life. _

_Oh yes! He is so pretty. His name is “Angel” – isn’t that funny?_

_Eric, Georgia tells me that you rode Crowley’s big black stallion around?_

_Yes. I’ve never ridden a horse before. But we just walked around. So I didn’t fall off. Hekla had fun performing tricks with Angel._

_Georgia says you ride bareback just like a circus performer, Hekla. Sitting backward, jumping on and off?_

_She stood up on his rump while he was going fast!_

_Angel has very smooth gaits. I used to ride horses like him when I . . . when I was on Earth the last time._

Crowley snarls:

_And all this charming fun relates to Hekla’s story for the head office how, exactly?_

_Patience, Crowley. I’m getting to that._

Crowley dangles his arms and rolls his hands as if to say, _“Well, go on, go on.”_

_Hekla asked the stable owner if she and Eric could work there. To learn modern stable management and horsemanship._

_I thought if I had a job, that might convince Michael I could stay on Earth. _

_And it’s fairly close to Tadfield, so she could be considered to be under my supervision. But without a redundant duplication of postings to a single small village. _

Ammun growls:

_And no more jobs in London, seeing as how it’s now supposedly crawling with demons. We get Hekla safely stashed in the countryside where the demons won’t get at her. But where she can continue an Earth monitoring post. Have someone on the ground under Adam’s earth observation cloud. Get back into practice dealing with humans. _

_It would be much less boring than a receptionist at a tailor’s shop. And my employer wouldn’t always be glaring at Eric for intruding on my time._

Eric and Hekla smile lovingly at one another. Crowley raises his chin and studies them with half-closed eyelids behind his dark glasses, then murmurs to Uriel:

_I take it that Alexis agreed to this proposal?_

_Alexis is the stable owner?_

_Yep. Did she agree? I’m guessing Eric and Hekla would be easy keepers, not requiring groceries and all._

Uriel replies:

_Not that Alexis knows they’re an angel and a demon, of course. She asked if they would require a stipend. Georgia told her no, that they had an independent income. _

_Did she agree?_

_Not yet. Said she would have to consider the matter more carefully._

Crowley gets out his phone, taps and swipes to make a call.

_Alexis? Crowley here. How’s Boris? . . . Glad to hear it. . . . Say, Alexis, my friend Georgia tells me a young couple named Hekla and Eric have approached you about an internship at your stable? . . . I have farm property in Tadfield. Been thinking of putting a few horses on it. But I’d need a stable manager. If you could train those two up, I can provide a stipend for their room and board. . . . Couple of years is fine. . . . Can they start tomorrow morning? . . . Well, just consider them guest riders until the contract papers are ready. Put them up in the barn if you need to, haha. . . . Yep. You’re sharp, Alexis. That’s indeed the situation. . . . Aha. I had no idea. So you two know what we’re up against. . . . Good. I’ll bring them round mid-morning . . . Um, Alexis? My role in this is strictly confidential, agreed? Not so much as a whisper to anyone? . . . Excellent. Give Boris a dram for me. Ciao._

Uriel regards Crowley intently.

_Crowley, just what sort of hold do you have over Alexis?_

_Georgia told me she was having some cash flow problems. I tided her over._

_Ah. You do put your tentacles out, don’t you._

_Tentacles? What the fuck? I’m a snake, if you will recall._

_Don’t get shirty. It was a metaphor only. _

_Incubi are heavily into tentacle porn. They’re considered the scum of Hell’s low rent district._

Eric nods.

_Yes. Saying someone has tentacles is a nasty insult._

Uriel grimaces.

_Well of course I didn’t know that. But I apologize anyway, Crowley. Don’t get wound up._

_I’ll get wound up if I feel like it, dammit._

Hekla’s soft voice interjects:

_Ammun, do you think I should call Michael myself? Or would it be better for you to do so?_

_Me. Michael would pull details out of you like unwinding a silkworm. I’ll simply tell her you’re safe with Uriel tonight. Heading off tomorrow to the Cotswolds to start a job you wangled. Fine show of enterprise on your part, etcetera._

_Ammun, impress upon Michael that Hekla’s employer believes she’s the victim of a stalker, and will consider her employment confidential._

_Is that true?_

_Yep. Alexis is no fool. She was suspicious as to why I was so anxious to get them started immediately, money no object. Asked if Hekla was being stalked. Turns out one of her grooms had a bad experience with a psycho ex. At any rate, we sure as Hell don’t want Michael phoning up to verify employment and discovering that Eric is part of the package. _

_Shit, no._

_So you'd damn well better convince Michael you and Uriel have the situation safely in hand, Ammun. So she doesn’t start snooping around. Simply tell her that the stable owner needed help, Hekla is already expert around horses, it's a match made in Heaven. Haha._

Crowley smirks. Ammun rolls his eyes. But Hekla is somber.

_Demon Crowley, I’m scared. I . . . I know what Gabriel did to you and Aziraphale. Are Eric and I . . . _

_In the same sort of danger from the Heavenly Host? Dunno. The Twins told Uriel that Gabriel got a spanking from The Almighty for being an asshole about things. Right, Uriel?_

_Yes. And of course, the head office does not know that you have a demon lover, Hekla. They have no reason to pursue you if . . ._

Uriel falls silent. The words “demon lover” have triggered an upwelling of emotional poison in Hekla. She can’t control crying. Covers her face with her hands. Eric leaps up and hugs her shoulders, fixes Crowley with an appealing gaze. 

Hekla gasps between sobs:

_If I hadn’t . . . let myself be . . . be seduced by the Demon Daji . . . none of this trouble . . . would . . . would have happened. I nearly got Eric killed. I’m so ashamed._

Crowley snarls:

_For fuck’s sake, Hekla. You were lonely and seeking love. Vulnerable. A right beacon to a predator like Daji. _

_I fell!_

_No. You didn’t. Being tricked isn’t the same as falling. I’m telling you, you had no chance against Daji. _

_Really?_

_Consider me a fucking expert on temptation and falling. You found the love you need in Eric. He found the same. You saved each other from discorporation. You're going to a swell hideout. So stop feeling sorry for yourself. Buck the fuck up, Hekla. _

Crowley snorts in exasperation:

_Enough of this angelic soap opera. I gotta go._

He rises from his chair, heads for the door. Eric leaps up and races to open it for him. Hekla follows Eric. They catch up with Crowley by the Bentley.

_You two need a ride back to the manor?_

_Could you? We came in Uriel’s car._

Crowley regards Eric closely.

_By the way, Eric, I’ve been meaning to ask. When did you get the ear decoration?_

Eric feels his ears. There’s a rough spot on his right earlobe.

_Is it this?_

_Take a selfie and have a closer look._

Eric does so. Expands the picture.

_It’s a little gold star!_

Crowley turns his head so Eric gets the full view of his cheek with the satanic tattoo.

_Whoa! It’s like yours!_

_You don’t remember getting it? No beam of blue light?_

_No. What does it mean?_

_It’s a mark from The Almighty. If you were sporting it during your interview with Beelzebub, she undoubtedly noticed it. _

Crowley stands silent and thoughtful for a moment.

_Hekla, if Beelzebub appears before you two, do not draw your sword. It will be useless against her. Do whatever Eric tells you._

_Is she going to come for us?_

_Maybe. Don’t be too worried. She came for Angel. He’s still here. Get in. _

Crowley drives off with a squeal of tires.

Inside the house, Ammun raises his eyebrows, grins at Uriel.

_Bit tetchy today, wasn’t he? _


	102. The Fixer

Tadfield. A slow late afternoon in the bookshop. Aziraphale is considering closing early and adjourning to Madame Tracy’s for tea with Crowley when the demon bursts through the door. Normally he doesn’t return to the shop until after closing, as he tends to alarm the customers. Like now. One of the two remaining customers drops her book as Crowley gives her a brief furious snarl as he hurries past on his way to the back room. A wave of heat and woodsmoke follows him. Aziraphale approaches her and gently murmurs as he picks up the dropped book, carefully inspects it, and replaces it on the shelf.

_Perhaps it would be best if I were to close a bit early. Is your purchase urgent, or can I offer you more assistance tomorrow?_

_I . . . I was hoping to find “Birds of Borneo.” But it can wait._

_Ah. A classic work. I believe I have two copies in relatively good condition. _

_That’s fine. I’ll come back tomorrow. Thank you, Mr. Fell._

Aziraphale escorts her to the door through which the other customer has already fled. Locks up. Takes a deep breath, and goes to the back room. Where he finds Crowley curled up in a fetal position atop a giant pillow on the Persian carpet, robed in Aziraphale’s tatty old brown cut velvet dressing gown. And fast asleep. 

The angel goes over to the tiny kitchenette to make a cup of cocoa. Snaps his fingers to swap his jacket for a soft rolled collar cardigan, his boots and socks for a pair of fleece-lined leather slippers he acquired in 1955. Quietly seats himself in his old armchair. Gazes at Crowley. Thinks how when the demon’s face relaxes in sleep he looks completely different. Like an innocent child. Takes a book off the lamp table, opens it to the place marker and begins to read.

\------------------------------------------------

Two hours later. Crowley opens one eye. Grimaces. Uncoils and stretches like a cat. Looks expectantly at Aziraphale. The angel puts a marker in his book, rises from his chair, places another giant pillow against the chair front, and seats himself on the carpet. Crowley writhes over and lies against the angel’s chest. Snaps his fingers, and Aziraphale is now wearing the old brown robe and Crowley is wearing himself. Aziraphale wraps his arms around the demon and strokes his hair, petting the velvety fade and running his fingers through the tousled quiff.

_Mmmmm. That feels good. I’m never letting my hair grow again._

They sit quietly for a long while, simply enjoying the intimacy of each other’s presence. Then Crowley murmurs:

_You know, Aziraphale, when I suggested we move the bookshop to Tadfield, I was hoping it would be a retreat for us. You could play with your old books . . . we could have a little cottage . . . I could garden and raise interesting plants . . . Adam’s protection would keep Hell and the Heavenly Host at bay. Instead . . ._

Aziraphale finishes the thought:

_It’s been one excitement after another, hasn’t it?_

_Make that “one damned bloody fucking excitement” and you’ll have my complete agreement._

_On the bright side, at least members of the opposition seem to be getting it in the neck lately. Instead of us._

Crowley smiles snakily.

_Yessss. Gabriel getting fried, Daji getting melted . . . definitely heartwarming._

_Not to mention Eric and Hekla. Did you manage to figure out a way to keep them safe?_

_Maybe. Got them stashed at that stable where Georgia likes to go riding. Tell you all about it later._

_What about your meeting with Mr. Pickersgill? Were you successful in your encouragement to renovate the rectory?_

_Temptation, Aziraphale, temptation. Not encouragement. Allow me some shreds of professional pride, if you don’t mind._

_So, yes?_

_Yep. I’m becoming a major landowner in Tadfield. Tadfield Manor. The driving track. Two farms. The parish hall site. And now the church and rectory._

_The church and rectory?_

_I didn’t tell you? _

Crowley smirks as he continues:

_Having connections to the Disposable Demons paid off. Helped me dig up the dirt on Mr. Pickersgill’s superiors. Whoooeee! Jackpot. _

_You blackmailed them into transferring the church and rectory into your ownership? _

_I prefer the phrase, “made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.” Under the guise of re-establishing the vicarage as in the gift of the Tadfield estate. _

_Does Mr. Pickersgill know that a demon now owns all the church properties in Tadfield?_

_Oh yes. Wasn’t terribly fazed. Remarkable human, that. Very flexible thinker._

_Perhaps he, too, sees that deep down—_

_Dammit, Aziraphale, if you go on one more time about how I’m a good person—_

_Tch, Crowley. Of course that’s only deep down. The entire rest of you is as devious and wicked as they come._

_Thank you, Angel. _

Crowley pauses a moment as a thought occurs to him.

_You did that on purpose to tweak me, didn’t you. Bastard._

A smug smile flits across the angel’s face. He caresses Crowley’s shoulders and nuzzles his hair.

_Speaking of the Disposable Demons, do you think they’re going to be a problem?_

_And how. Yesterday the two Erics at the driving course roughed up a mechanic and got him fired. _

_Oh? What happened?_

_The usual human male trouble. Made a pass at Karen. She clobbered him. A fight erupted. At least the Erics didn’t gut him. Had the sense to not pull out their knives._

_Gut him? Knives? Good heavens, Crowley!_

Crowley stretches out an arm, and a Neolithic obsidian blade appears in his hand.

_They all carry one of these. Sharper than sin. Useful for dealing with the obstreperous damned._

_Oh my word._

_They scared the hell out of the other mechanics. Think I’ll have to transfer them to management only. Get a new Disposable Demon on the garage crew. I fucking hate personnel problems. Add that to the list of things I didn’t sign on for in Tadfield._

_Well, here’s another one for you. Anathema came in today and told me that her new needlework store manager is a witch._

_Satan’s sins! Tell me it isn’t that old bat from up north._

_Oh, you’ve met her before?_

_Several times. She’s about 250 years old._

_I thought witches died like other humans?_

_Not if they escape getting killed. One of the perks of being a witch. You go when you feel like it. Look at Agnes Nutter – still hanging on as a shade, for Hell’s sake. Usually they get bored after about a century on Earth. But this particular witch finds needlework endlessly fascinating._

_Tell me her name isn’t Madame Defarge._

Crowley laughs.

_Oh no. Name’s Clare Weaver._

_Namesake of St. Clare of Assisi?_

_Damned if I know. I’ve been thinking of sojourning up to Fair Isle to have her knit a new sweater vest for you. To replace the one that Gabriel torched._

_Ah. I really loved that vest._

_Well, now someone who can do an even better one is going to be right down the street._

_Do you think Pepper will get on with her?_

Crowley snorts.

_Clare does the sweet old lady act to perfection. Fluffy. Powdery. Pink cheeks. Makes treacle seem sour. _

_Is she a wicked witch?_

_Oh no. Damnably kind. ‘S nearly gotten her killed any number of times. But enough of her. You can pry her story out over tea some time. _

Crowley is silent for some moments. Then:

_Between our Antichrist, demons, angels, and witches, Tadfield is turning into a candidate for a BBC series. Only we’re stuck in it._

_Crowley. Do you really think you could have retired quietly to a village cottage?_

_Well, yes. I could entirely get behind doing nothing more than raising exotic plants and spending days in Divine Ecstasy with you._

_Really, my dear?_

Long pause.

_Obviously not. _

_Hang on, Crowley. Have you considered the possibility that you are in fact succeeding? Just on a larger scale? Instead of a cottage and garden, you're becoming the owner of a village and farmlands? An estate? A protective enclave for all of us?_

Crowley grins.

_Kiss me, Angel. We need to address the Divine Ecstasy part._

[And our authorial drone flies off as our lovers enjoy a night of Divine Ecstasy.]

[](https://imgur.com/zw0zsJd)

Those of Mature mindset with a scientific interest in how angelic and demonic bodies actually engage in sex can read the follow-up chapter in Crowley Gets a New Look.

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20390911/chapters/55254958>


	103. Lovers Trio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AiwaSensei Commission for chapters wherein Crowley entices Uriel, Ammun, and Anubis into becoming lovers.

Plot chapters listed below illustration.

  1. Uriel <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/48889778>
  2. Consecrated Ground <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/48912134>
  3. Midnight Confession <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/48946574>
  4. Sheep Go to Heaven <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/49073372>
  5. Anubis <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/49262828>
  6. Jinn <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/49296404>

Crowley slips into Hell via an unguarded path via the Rincon de la Vieja volcano in Panama and alerts Anubis to Ammun.

The Gates of Hell. An enormous serpent glides out of the stygian gloom and into the flickering red light. Cerberus gives a bound over the line of the incoming candidates for damnation, executes a play bow before the serpent. The snake throws a coil over the monstrous dog’s back, and the two roll and wrestle for some minutes, diverting all but those having their hearts ripped out by Anubis at the weigh station. Both Anubis and the snake observe a disposable demon trot through the gate. Their eyes meet. The snake hisses in an ancient language:

_Go to Ammun._

Anubis gestures, and Cerberus rolls away from the snake and leaps the incoming line to resume his post at the gate. Wolf-headed Anubis reaches down, effortlessly slings the giant snake over his head and across his shoulders. There is a nearly indiscernible flicker, and the snake vanishes. Anubis continues weighing.

  1. Honeymoon <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/49566173>
  2. Temptation Accomplished <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541215/chapters/49598840>


End file.
